


Do not stand at my grave and weep

by Anytha, StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff and Angst, post Season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anytha/pseuds/Anytha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die. (Post S1 finale, AU). Co-authored with StarryDreamer01</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Since we’re always bouncing fic ideas back and forth, we decided to try our hand at a RP story. In a little under 2 months, we managed to create a behemoth of a story, surprising us both. The story is largely complete, but we will be posting two chapters a week, so follow or subscribe to ensure that you get the updates. 
> 
> We’d like to thank amandajbruce for editing our story. She provided some much needed insight into the characters and plot, we are very grateful to her! If you haven’t checked out her work, you should! 
> 
> We’d also love it if you could leave reviews, we’d love to read what you think about the story.
> 
> Authors: Anytha & StarryDreamer01

* * *

Jemma hears their whispers and knows that they talk about her; rooms fall silent as she enters and everyone moves around her as though she’s made of eggshells.  She considers questioning the team about it, demanding that everyone just return to _normal_.  But they hustle about her, avoiding sensitive topics, clearly afraid that at any moment she’ll break, cracking under the weight of the emotions she’s bottled inside.

 

There is one truth she’s certain of: nothing will ever be _normal_ again.  She misses Fitz more than she could ever begin to imagine articulating.

 

Despite months passing, every inch of her continues to yearn for his presence.  She wishes she had the creativity to still picture him at her side and to hear his voice lulling her to sleep with talk of photons and rest mass.  Every passing day brings with it a fear that he’ll disappear entirely from her memory.  Already she’s having difficulty recalling the sound of his lilt as he bossed her about their lab or which side of his face had the crescent shaped scar above his eyebrow.  

 

Each night in desperation, she buries herself in the blankets from his bunk, clinging to the fibers as if it were _him_.  His scent has long disappeared but she tries to imagine it just the same, fooling herself into believing that he’s still alive.  

 

The decisions that they’d made in the medpod still haunt her.  Jemma knows she could never have argued any different, he would’ve forced his last decision on her even if she’d refused.  He was always the hero, braver than she could ever hope to be.  

 

She clings to her science, is certain that there must be alternative solutions hidden somewhere on the medpod, other ways she could’ve saved both of them.  She needs to know, needs to understand what went wrong and in her most despairing hours begs Coulson for unfettered access to the rusted remains.

 

Each time, he refuses.

 

Her words in response are always furious and wrought, her voice growing in anger; she doesn’t understand _why_.

 

Coulson holds his ground and is adamant when he tells her that she is to go no where near the medpod; she’d been too close to its demise and her bias would only corrupt the crime scene destroying any evidence that remains.

 

She bites back a cutting reply and what remains unspoken behind the layers of his words is that he’s refusing to let her investigate Fitz’s death, that he’s keeping her away from the one thing she can’t let go of.

...

 

His last visual memory before the water rushed in is her tearful face.  The last thing he remembers hearing is her voice screaming _'No'_.

 

Both things haunt him every night and he always wakes up choking for air, her name on his lips and tears ready to spill down his face.

 

This shouldn't have happened. It should have been _him_.

 

Fitz gets out of bed, running his hands across his face and hair and sighs as he walks to the loo. He wonders why he even bothers to try to sleep: he barely gets one hour of tormented rest before the nightmares return.

 

The Bus is eerily silent but he's grown accustomed to it. He's the only person that works and sleeps there: the rest of the team uses the rooms at the Playground.  He cannot bring himself to do the same: the Bus is the last place where Jemma lived.

 

The last place where they'd been together.

 

Leaving it would mean trying to leave her behind and he cannot do that.  He's not brave enough. He'll _never_ be brave enough.

 

He meant to be brave when he offered her the last breath of oxygen: he truly wanted her to live and had accepted his own death.  Instead, she dragged him out of the medpod and got them both out to the surface with a single breath. She had always been the braver one.  She had always been the reckless one between them: so reckless to forgo her own safety and force herself to save him.

 

_“I-I'm sorry, Fitz,” Tears are streaming down Skye's face when he asks where Jemma is when he wakes up. “Simmons- s-she didn't-”_

 

Fitz grits his teeth and goes through his routine of washing and dressing. He does it automatically without even looking at himself in the mirror.

 

He's so disgusted by himself that he can’t even look at his own reflection.

 

Why is he here when she isn’t?

 

He walks into the kitchenette and makes some tea, avoiding the cupboard that he used to share with Jemma and drops a teabag into a mug.  
  


“Oh dear... Fitz, that will taste _horrible_.”  

 

He closes his eyes and swallows dryly.

 

His brain has been damaged by the lack of oxygen: it's been months now and he still struggles. Words and ideas are suddenly difficult to grasp for him and he often stops mid-sentence, waiting for someone to finish the thought.

 

No one did until a few weeks ago.

 

“I know, Simmons,” he rasps, his voice not used to talking. He rarely talks to anyone. Skye manages to get a few muttered words from him every now and then when she comes to the lab.

 

He turns and sees Jemma standing by the table, dressed in her usual blouse and blue jumper, long hair gathered into a neat ponytail. She looks at him with soft amber eyes and a small smile.  

 

“Then, throw that concoction away and make us a good cup of tea, you dolt.” Her voice is lithe, teasing even.

 

His heart yearns to hear more from her even though a part of his mind is telling him that he's deluding himself.

 

She's a ghost, a memory...A hallucination likely born from his damaged mind.  He knows she’s not real... _but he doesn't care_.

 

Fitz pours the tea into the sink and takes another mug out, smiling at her as he puts the kettle on the stove again.

 

He'll never be brave enough to accept that Jemma Simmons died to save him.

 

…

 

In the weeks which follow Fitz’s death, the team pushes Jemma to consider leaving the Bus once and for all and move into Playground with them.  Coulson even goes as far as updating the labs in the SSR to entice her. He tells her that he used the wishlist and blueprints that Fitz had once dropped on his desk in a flurry of frustration after his baseline accelerator had blown for the hundredth time.  

 

“It has everything you could ever want,” Coulson insists.

 

Jemma doesn’t doubt that the SSR’s labs are far more advanced than the one on the Bus; Fitz had always known exactly what she would need even before she knew it herself.

 

But she can’t bring herself to agree.  

 

She doesn’t deserve their kindness; she thinks she deserves only the loneliness and isolation that the now vacated Bus offers.

 

There are other reasons to stay, but she doesn’t dare speak them aloud.  They would surely think she’s had a mental break.  Even she thinks she has.  

 

For the first time since the medpod she’d heard Fitz.  It’s as clear as day.  

 

He’s speaking to her.

 

Initially she’d thought it was born of her dreams, a byproduct of paradoxical sleep wherein she recalled the very things she’d been beginning to forget.  But then one evening while searching the cupboards of the Bus’s understocked kitchen for what remains of her tea, she hears him a second time.  

 

Her hands shake so violently with shock that she nearly drops the tin.  It’s his voice, she’s certain of it.  He’s chastising her as he did before; he hates that she meddles in on his choices.  Jemma doesn’t dare reply; she thinks her reply would only succeed in acknowledging her apparent psychosis.  Instead she listens as he speaks in half sentences; it’s as though he wants her to finish his train of thought.

 

As the days pass, she hears his voice more frequently; he speaks to her while she lies in his bunk or when she fritters away the hours working in the lab.  He calls out to her in all the places he used to occupy.  It’s a startling difference from when she’d cried herself asleep at night, worried that she was forgetting him.

 

Fitz’s voice is loudest when she works near the Asimovian and she begins to wonder if there’s a connection.  She’s desperate to test her theory further and devotes every waking moment toward enhancing its resonance faculties.

 

There’s one problem though:  Skye insists on joining Jemma while she works.   

 

She knows that the hacker has good intentions but the space feels more muted on the days that she or anyone else visits.  

 

Jemma notes the concentrated look on Skye’s face.  She’s focused and determined, her attention on her computer, her fingers flying across her keyboard with expert precision.  Skye is likely to spend hours at her old desk and as Jemma’s solution bubbles in its beaker, she worries she might miss her chance to test her theory.  

 

She fears that the sensations will only become fainter the longer she waits.  Indistinct, even.

 

“Why do you bother coming up here?” Jemma asks, measuring her voice so that it sounds terse and impatient.  Her fingers tap nervously against the stainless steel tabletop; she needs Skye to leave.

 

Skye’s own fingers pause over the keyboard as she looks up and at her friend.  Her lips purse contemplatively and she shrugs in response.  Her mouth opens as if to say something, but she snaps it shut just as quickly.

 

Jemma lifts the goggles from her eyes and props them on top of her head.  “Did Coulson send you to spy on me?”  She asks shakily, the truth practically slipping from her lips. “Is this about the medpod again? I swear it’s not--”

 

“Whoa!  Simmons!”  Skye interrupts, rising from her stool. “Coulson didn’t ask me to come here.”

 

Jemma’s eyes narrow suspiciously.  “Then why-- why are you here?  I can’t be particularly amusing to be around anymore.” She returns her goggles to the bridge of her nose and begins to pour the boiled contents of one beaker into another, allowing it to partially occupy her attention.  “Honestly, I just want to be left alone,” she adds dismissively.

 

“That’s just it!” Skye declares throwing her arms up.  “You haven’t been the same since…” She inhales a deep breath.   “We’re just worried about you.  You’re practically skin and bones.”

 

Jemma’s eyes flit to the solution that sits before her.  “You shouldn’t be.”

 

Skye’s eyebrows raise in surprise.  “Really?  Simmons, the Bus barely has any supplies.  Nothing has been replenished in weeks.  Just yesterday you asked Trip to update the Asimovian’s hard drive.  That damn thing is nearly unusable and none of us can figure out why you’re even bothering with it.  It’s like you’re a different--”

 

“I have everything that I need.”  

 

“What?”

 

Jemma blanches.  Her words had tumbled from her lips unmoderated and unintentional.  She straightens her shoulders and vows to moderate the ones she chooses next.

 

She has a lie practiced and ready to recite.  There’s a planted truth in her deception ensuring its believability.  She knows the science is mostly lost on Skye and she hopes the younger agent forgets the bulk of her reasoning. “I’m trying to manufacture a transparent substance that should allow for cloaking without the need for additional lens support.”  She pauses and forces herself to meet Skye’s eyes.  “I’m testing the longitudinal waves which should allow for the oscillating wave to convert--”

 

Skye waves her hand, stopping Jemma mid sentence.  “I get it, you need silence.”

 

She nods, a forced smile growing purposefully on her lips.  “Yes. Yes, I need to concentrate.  It’s been very difficult…”

 

Skye shakes her head and returns to her old desk, gathering up her laptop.  “There’s no need to explain,” she says apologetically and Jemma feels a surge of guilt rise in her chest.  “I’ll get out of your hair.  Let you work.”

 

Jemma nods again. “Thank you.  Really.”

 

As Skye passes her, she reaches for Jemma’s hand and squeezes it.  “Just come up for air, okay?”

 

Restrained, Jemma hopes that she sounds grateful in reply.  “You worry too much, Skye.”

 

Her lips tighten as her eyes take in Jemma more wholly.  “Maybe.  But sometimes I think I’m not worrying enough.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback! We're glad to see that this story is liked and is making a lot of you curious and we love the theories you've come up with.  
> We hope to read more of your thoughts and impressions. :)

* * *

Fitz is in the lab, going through some projects that are saved in his tablet. His mind sees the designs and ideas and thoughts roam in his brain but there are some details that don't come up.  Like why is the Mouse Hole's laser calibrated in that way? Why do the DWARFs have an electromagnetic shielding chip?

 

 _He_ built these bloody devices. He should _know_. But he doesn't.

 

And it's eating him up inside; he's feeling useless.

 

He glances at the cloaking device that Coulson has asked him to work on and sighs slightly. It's open on his workbench: pliers and screwdrivers lying next to it as though he's meant to go there and fix it soon.

 

He can't. He doesn't seem to remember how to fix it.

 

It frustrates him to no end because he feels like he knows exactly what to do but doesn't remember; there's this tip-of-the-tongue feeling that lingers permanently within him.

 

If Jemma were here, she'd help him get the words out. But she's not.  And if that isn't already hollowing out his heart, even his imaginary-Jemma is absent, leaving him truly alone. He knows that he's spiraling down a dangerous road of wanting to find solace in a figment of his own, tormented imagination but... she looks _so real_.

 

The first few times, he thinks it's just a coping mechanism and that he's using eight years worth of time together to imagine her around him, talking and smiling and just being Jemma. She's supportive and helps him out and even though he knows it's wrong, he's glad she's there.  It makes him feel better.

 

The team has been coming over to see him and he's growing weary of their forced smiles and edgy attitudes. He wants to go back to normality (even though he knows that without Jemma, nothing will _ever_ be normal again).  Triplett smiles that easy smile of his and asks how he's doing; Coulson asks for updates on his work whenever he's on base and May walks in and does pretty much the same.

 

He barely talks to any of them and Skye is the only one that keeps trying.  Like today.

 

Skye comes into the lab and takes her seat as she used to and works on her laptop. Fitz knows that she could be anywhere and that as a field agent, she should be working with the others. He hasn't seen anyone outside of the rare meetings in Coulson's office so he's not sure if they've recruited other people.

 

Skye keeps him updated and mentions names (Hartley, Hunter, Idaho, Mack...but he honestly doesn't care...) and looks at him silently when she thinks that he doesn't notice.

His nerves are jangled by his inability to get the cloaking device to work and he catches her off-guard when he asks why she's there with him.  For a moment, he sees the carefully fabricated mask that is Agent Skye break down, revealing the girl that he’d met months ago.

 

“I'm worried for you,” she confesses, closing her laptop and playing with the hem of her black jumper. Skye used to wear a lot more colour before: when did that change? When did she start turning into an emotionally-contained person like May?

 

“You barely leave the Bus. You don't talk-”

 

“I'm talking to you now.”

 

“This is the most you've talked in months!” She stands up and levels him with an odd look across his workbench. “I want to help, Fitz.”

 

He tries to ignore the little twist in his chest at the pleading hint in her voice. There's a part of him that knows that she's suffering like him.  Jemma was her friend too. She cared for her.

Plus, she'd also gone through the whole mess with War-

 

Fitz closes his eyes and tightens his fists, knuckles white. He shouldn't be thinking about… _him_. It just makes him feel angry and betrayed… and furious because if he hadn't thrown them out of the plane, Jemma would be here now.

 

“I need time,” he says curtly. “And-” _Jemma_. “-silence.”

 

Skye stares at him and visibly sags. He ignores the twist of guilt in his chest.

 

“Okay...” She whispers and he doesn't look up as she leaves. He also ignores the soft sniffle that he hears as she walks past him.

 

-

 

Hours later, he hears footsteps once again. They were meant to be soft but the silence in the Bus is so deafening that they echo in the cargo bay.  Fitz looks up from the cloaking device and sees May, holding a bag.

 

“Your dinner,” she says and leaves it on the table when he nods and looks down again. Honestly, eating is the last thing on his mind.

 

He expects her to leave, as usual, but she lingers by the doorway and he's forced to look up again.

 

“We've recruited a man called Mack,” she says bluntly. “He's a mechanic and can help you repair the avionics system. He's quite eager to work with you.”

 

Fitz wonders if she's serious. Who in their _bloody-sane_ mind would want to work with him?

He nods again but she still doesn't leave. He looks up again and blinks.  Melinda May is giving him a blank look but her eyes betray her concern for him.

 

“I can understand that you want time alone,” she says. “But we're a team, Fitz: we help each other.”

 

He doesn’t say anything but he has the urge to roll his eyes. How are they helping him right now? By keeping Fitz-watch on a daily basis? By looking at him as though he’s meant to break any minute?

 

He looks down at his tablet.

 

“And we don't want to disappoint Simmons. She'd hate us if she knew that we're allowing you to wither away.”

 

Fitz's eyes widen: it’s the first time that he's heard Jemma's name from anyone on the team. He looks up but May's already walking away and he's left with another block of guilt in his heavy heart. He puts away his work and takes the bag, pulling out the cartons of Chinese food and starts eating, forcing himself to swallow.

 

He's crushed the bag and is taking a gulp of water to wash down the last bite of rice when he feels the air change in the lab. It's warmer and...he almost catches a waft of lavender, lingering delicately in the air.

 

“You should rest.”

 

He turns, heart picking up pace at the sound of her voice: he hasn't heard or seen her in days. His consciousness hasn’t conjured her for a while so he has to be in a rather rich state if his mind-Jemma is back...

 

And then he blinks.

 

She's wearing a familiar combination of jeans, blouse and cardigan… but…

 

Usually he sees her with her hair pulled back and he’s never really bothered to notice the length. But for the first time he’s noticing because she’s wearing it down...

 

And her hair is cut short to her shoulders.

 

“Your hair...” He whispers and she touches the strands with a hand before shrugging slightly. She smiles softly and he recognises the subtle way she’s asking him a silent question. It’s as though she’s saying: _“Do you like it?”_

 

He stares at her.

 

He wonders if he's more forgone than he’d thought and if his mind is truly unraveling. He never thought about her like this: he's never _seen_ her with hair this short in his life.

 

There's a little voice in his head that murmurs that this could be real, that she's not just imaginary and that he's really seeing her. Perhaps, he's missing another detail, another connection and doesn't understand the full ordeal now.

 

It would be too good to be true.

 

“Yeah...” He replies, smiling slightly. “You look wonderful, Jemma.” Her smile warms his heart.

  
Or perhaps, he's just going insane.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! We're loving all the theories and can't wait to hear more.. :)

* * *

She’d practically dropped the emptied syringe inside the Asimovian generator; she hadn’t expected him to appear but there he'd been, speaking to her.

 

His voice was crackled like an old radio frequency and his body came in and out of focus, but it was him.  Right there in front of her.

 

And he’d seen her too.

 

Jemma fingers the tips of her hair, recalling his compliment.  It confuses her and she’s certain she must’ve looked startled; she’s had shoulder length hair for years and Fitz had never before mentioned that he’d liked it. 

 

Well, he hadn’t mentioned a lot of things before… Before everything. 

 

Jemma’s mind races, considering every alternative to counter what she’d just seen. Reason would suggest a simple hallucination, the likely result of her poor diet and slow recovery from decompression sickness.  

 

Yet, there had been correlation to prove the causation. 

 

She bites at her bottom lip and assesses what she knows: she’d, for weeks, theorized about the existence of multi dimensions after she’d first started to hear his voice.  The Ruang solution she’d mixed had been a theoretical construct at best and it was one even she’d figured couldn’t possibly work.  However almost as soon as she’d injected it into the Asimovian generator it was as though a switch had been flipped and there he was, defying every law of physics.

 

She’d never dreamed that it could be possible.  They were the fanciful ideas that Fitz had had before he’d died, never her.  He was always the one that would toss scientific journal articles about the topic her way and say with a mischievous smile, “One day, Simmons, we’ll be able to travel between dimensions.  Mark my words.”  

 

Jemma had just assumed the “we” in his predictions would be some other scientist of the future.  Certainly not her.

 

And most certainly not her and an entirely different Fitz.

 

She knows with certainty that she’d  _ seen  _ him with her own eyes and she thinks it’s practically beyond comprehension.   The thrill of discovery courses through her veins and she wonders if  she could just  stabilize the resonance could there  be a way to bridge the dimensions and see this alternative version of Fitz once more.   

 

She suspects the answer might lie within the remains of the medpod.

 

...

 

It takes him days to actually accept the idea that had crossed his mind when he’d seen Jemma in the lab.   He decides to start distinguishing the versions.  There’s the Jemma that appears in the lab and his mind-Jemma that his consciousness makes him see when he’s anxious. 

 

Then there’s  _ his  _ Jemma who now only lives in his memories.

 

In whatever form, she’s  still Jemma and he’s glad that she’s there.

 

He’d spent the last few days in the lab, reading old notes and going through theories that he and Jemma had bounced off each other years ago after a class in theoretical Astrophysics.  At the time there had only been speculations and very complex math equations, but then later they'd actually seen it.

 

When Thor had appeared and multiple portals had opened in London as he’d passed through worlds, they’d become mildly interested in the subject. Then during their mission at the Particle Accelerator Complex, with a man trapped between worlds and misleading them to think that telekinesis was involved, their interest increased.

 

Fitz sighs, putting away his old Academy notes.

 

_ Multi dimensions. _

 

It's a daunting thought to believe that there are other worlds and universes besides their own; worlds where they could be living another life, be other people. There might be a world where Leopold Fitz is still... whole and unscathed. And, if his theories ( _ and desperate hopes _ ) are right, there could be a dimension where Jemma Simmons is alive.

 

Fitz swallows dryly, trying to tame his quick-beating heart and soaring feelings. He needs facts: he only has a handful of theories now and the recent apparition of Jemma in the lab.  
  


He has to find more information: he has to read the data from their old mission; his tablet only has his blueprints and a few schemes and notes but it's not enough.  Jemma was the one to keep accurate notes and files about all their missions.

 

“ _ For future reference, Fitz!”  _ She would scoff when he teased her about loving to do her homework. God, how he wants to tease her again... Talk to her.

 

He runs a hand across his face to clear his head from the many hopeless thoughts and tries to focus. If his theory on multi dimensions is right, he needs the proper material to see how it works.

 

Jemma appeared to him in the lab when he was alone but he doesn't know what triggered her appearance. He doesn't know if he inadvertently does something that allows him to see her.  
  


His mind is keeping up as much as it can but he cannot start afresh on this, not when words leak through his brain when he’s not expecting it. It would have been hard enough for him to do this on his own  _ before,  _ but now it's pretty damn impossible.

 

He needs Jemma's old notes. And there is only one place where he can find them...

 

-  
  


The Playground's basement is a vast, dark and cavernous set of vaults. Koenig had mentioned that most of the rooms were used for storage while the largest ones have been adapted for the agents' usage: the rifle-range and the exercise room are the most used.

 

Fitz walks down the dimly lit corridors carrying his tablet and looking at a rudimentary map on it: it's schematic rendition of all the vaults but it doesn't say what's behind every door.  In one of the vaults is where all the things that belong to Jemma are stored.

 

He had been in a coma when Jemma had died, so Skye had had to pack up her things. Once he was more lucid and less grief-stricken  _ (if that is even possible _ ), she had asked him if he’d wanted to see Jemma's belongings and take something before she moved them to one of the storage rooms.

 

Fitz couldn't bring himself to even enter her bunk so, after a while, he just asked Skye to bring him two things: a photo of them during the Academy ( _ their first picture together as friends _ ) and an old knitted blanket that she'd been bringing with her since Sci-Ops ( _ a gift from her grandmother _ ).

 

He still sleeps with that blanket…

 

Skye had taken everything to a storage room shortly thereafter and they didn't talk about it anymore. Fitz never even bothered to ask if she had taken something from Jemma's things. She wouldn't have minded: Skye was her friend too.

 

He stops and checks the map, looking around. Given the reason of his presence in the basement, he didn't want to go and ask Skye where she had put Jemma's belongings.  It would have been another reason for the team to think that he was going mental…  Thankfully, the team is not in the base: they’re all out on some mission. 

 

And he hadn't been informed about it.

 

It's becoming a daily occurrence…

 

Frowning slightly at the thought, Fitz absentmindedly turns to his left and walks down the corridor only to find himself in front of a door. He looks at the map and blinks.

 

There shouldn't be a door there, at least not according to the map that shows a solid wall. Turning, he notices that the corridor is one of the dimmest in the basement and with few rooms.

 

Fitz turns to look back at the door: it doesn't have a pad for identification or a particular lock, It's a very plain-looking metal door with a knob.

 

Then why...?

 

He opens it mostly out of curiosity but there's a small part of him that pushes him to do it because there's  _ something  _ in there. Something that he has to see, something that's significant to him.

 

The room is large and dark. Fitz is suddenly hit by the cold air and, surprisingly, the mixed scent of rusty metal and...sodium chloride?

 

No, not quite the chemical solution. The scent is different.

 

It smells like... salty water.

 

_ Sea water. _

 

His hand searches for a switch by the door and when he finds it, he quickly flicks it on.

There's a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling and it barely lights the room, but it's enough to see what’s inside.

 

Fitz almost drops his tablet and the air feels as though it’s been knocked out of him.

 

The metal wreckage of the medpod - _ that  _ medpod,  _ their  _ medpod- is right in front of him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again for all your wonderful comments. We hope you continue to enjoy the story.

* * *

“Mack?”

 

The man startles before her, dropping the screwdriver he’d been holding.  His hand goes to his chest as if to calm down a racing heart.  “Tiny!” He declares with relief, letting out a quick puff of air.  “How about you knock next time so you don’t scare me senseless every time you pop by for a visit.”  He adds with a wave of his hand, “You sure you weren’t a ninja in a past life?”

 

Jemma reddens.  “Sorry.”

 

Mack shakes his head and picks up the screwdriver from the floor.  “You don’t need to apologize,” he says tucking the tool away in a storage container.  “It’s fine.  We just don’t see you in here very often.”

 

Her eyes lower to the ground.  “I know.  I just prefer the lab in the Bus.”

 

He nods but doesn’t question her any further, accepting her reply as a simple truth.  This is what she likes best about Alphonso Mackenzie: he doesn’t prod.   _It’s refreshing._

 

“What’s up?”  He asks, pressing his palms against the lab table as he leans forward. “If you’re looking for something to do, Coulson just dumped off a load of seized Hydra equipment that I need to inventory.”  He flashes his eyebrows and smiles devilishly.  “I bet there’s some lab stuff you might be interested in inside some of those boxes.”

 

“Do you believe in wormholes?”  She asks ignoring his offer, the words tumbling desperately from her lips.

 

He stands upright, his figure suddenly imposing as he crosses his muscular arms at his chest.  “What?”

 

Jemma bites at her lip and briefly reconsiders her question.  She’s unsure if she should trust Mack, she barely knows him.  But she needs someone that understands physics and mechanics.

 

_Like Fitz did._

 

“Do you think Schwarzchild’s theory is possible?”  She asks quickly.  “That there are wormholes? Or that people can move between dimensions?”

 

Mack narrows his eyes and studies her.  “Jemma Simmons, why are you asking me about traversable wormholes?”  He cocks his head to the side.  “What are you up to on that plane?”

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see his reaction to the words that follow.  “If someone were to have _accidentally_ manufactured a way to defy the laws of modern physics, do you think that it would be possible to cross from one dimension to the other without the wormhole collapsing?”

 

His hand grips her arm and she opens her eyes to look up at him.  Her heart races nervously and she swallows the lump in her throat, awaiting his response.

 

“Show me,” he says at last.

 

…  


“This is insane, you know that right?” Mack circles the Asimovian generator, his fingers lightly pressing against the top of the unit.  “And you saw him?  You’re sure.  He wasn’t like--”  He purses his lips and brings his finger to his temple, tapping against it twice.  

 

She nods.  “I’m certain.  He was right there,” she points to the empty space against the wall.  “Talking to me.”

 

“It’s possible it could be residual energy.  From what I heard you two spent a lot of time here.  There’s lots of recorded cases of visual apparitions that had auditory capabilities, but all it is is just imprints of past experiences.  Maybe that’s--”

 

“He was here,” she says pointedly, interrupting.  “I’m sure of it.”

 

Mack nods slowly.  “And you’re sure it’s not just an intelligent haunting?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says frustrated, rolling her eyes.  “There’s no such thing as ghosts.  He was right there.  As plain as you or I.  He mentioned my hair.”  Her voice softens as she recalls their interaction.  “He said I looked wonderful.  It was as though he’d never seen it like this before.”

 

“Like what?”

 

She shrugs.  “Short, I suppose.”

 

“Did you cut it recently?”  He asks.

 

Jemma shakes her head.  “It’s been short like this for years.  I cut it a bit after my parents died; Fitz certainly saw it like this. Well, _my Fitz_ anyway.”

 

Mack sucks in a breath and studies her.  After a beat, his arms relax at his side and he smiles as though finally accepting her reasoning.  “Well then, where do we start?”

  
…

 

Fitz doesn't really know what happened but he finds himself waking up in his bed. The bunk is dark, a bit of light filtering through the port hole and everything is silent as usual.

 

He has no clue how he got here. The last thing he remembers is being down in the basement, looking for the vault where Jemma's stuff could be stored.

 

His eyes widen as he remembers seeing the medpod.

 

And then...

 

“Oh, good. You're awake.”

 

Fitz turns to his side, blinking in the darkness. Skye’s sitting on the floor, against his bunk's door; dressed in black and huddled on the ground, he can barely make out the outline of her body.  His mind also registers that her voice is scratchy, almost nasal... As though she'd been crying.

 

“What-?” He sits up, feeling light-headed.He also feels a slight pain at the back of his head and slowly reaches for it, hissing as he finds a small, painful knot there.

 

What the hell had happened?

 

After turning on his bedside lamp, Fitz turns to Skye as she sits at the foot of his bed. The low glowing light allows him to see her face and he frowns slightly when he notices her red-rimmed eyes.

 

She’s been crying.

 

“What....-er...” He grits his teeth as the words slip out of his head again. His fingers drum on the comforter as he tries to reach for them in his head. “What happened? Why am I-?”

 

“-in bed?” Skye completes his sentence slowly. “Oh, _I_ don't know what happened to you down in the basement. _I_ just know that we all got back from the mission and I was bringing you dinner but I didn't find you _anywhere_ . Thankfully, you still had that on-.” She points at his lanyard, still tucked in his jeans' belt hoop. “-and I found you passed out in the _damn basement_ inside one the most isolated vaults!” Skye's voice rises as she speaks.

 

Fitz sees how her eyes are blazing: she’s angry.

 

“The vault that had the medpod where you and Simmons-” She stands up, hand brushing away the hair from her face. He hears her take a deep breath before turning around again.

“What the damn hell, Fitz?!” She exclaims. “Why were you even down there?”

 

Fitz winces at her loud voice, not really used to any sound now that he has secluded himself on the Bus. However, he doesn't miss the undertone of concern in her voice.

 

He must have scared her. Badly.

 

“I'm sorry,” he whispers and he truly is. He still cares for Skye: he doesn't want to hurt her.

 

The hacker's face softens slightly and she sits on his bed again. She doesn't speak and just stays silent, lost in her thoughts. It gives him time to remember what happened.

 

The medpod. He’d walked into the vault and saw the broken glass and the shreds of the makeshift explosive that they had created to crack it open.

 

Fitz remembers the numbness that had started to claim his body as the memories had flooded his brain.

 

_Jemma sleeping on his shoulder…_

 

_Jemma looking out of the glass, the little light making her face glow..._

 

He recalls feeling his sight get narrower, everything but the medpod turning black.

 

_Jemma talking about death... The First Law of Thermodynamics…_

 

_Jemma smiling at him... Jumping and laughing when they made the plan to escape..._

 

His heart had started beating faster.

 

Jemma staring at him in shock and disbelief when he offered her the last breath of oxygen...  


“ _You're my best friend in the world!”_

 

Fitz started hearing his heartbeat in his ears along with his breath which came out heavy and harsh. Everything got dark around him.

 

_Jemma crying as she hugged and kissed him…_

 

_Jemma screaming..._

 

It was his nightmare again. He’d relived it right there in the basement and in front of the source of it.

 

He’d been thinking that Jemma would have survived if she had left him there.

 

And then everything had gone dark.

 

It’s only then that Fitz realises that he had passed out because of a panic attack. He swallows dryly and runs a hand through his hair, wincing when he accidentally brushes against the lump on his head again.

 

“Fitz?” He looks up and sees Skye's concerned gaze. “What were you doing down there?” Her tone is extremely gentle...and cautious.

 

He tilts his head, wondering about it and he has the feeling that Skye is testing him.

 

He turns his head to the place where she had been sitting and sees his tablet on the ground. He has blueprints and notes on it; he also has a folder with jumbled notes about multi-dimensions.

 

Skye must have seen them.

 

Fitz thinksthat perhaps the hacker is the only person that can help him. He has trouble doing research: he has trouble finding the correct search words and getting specific information. He has tried before but then stopped after many fruitless attempts. That’s why he wants to find Jemma's notes; thankfully, he can read and understand. It's the executing that is troublesome.

 

He swallows dryly again and hopes that the hacker will understand and not freak out.

 

“Jemma,” he says softly. “I saw her.”

 

Skye freezes in front of him, eyes wide in shock. She then looks at his tablet, gets up to retrieve it and sits back down.

 

“You were reading stuff about... other dimensions, universes...” Skye's tone is still carefully gentle. “Fitz, I...” She sighs. “I know that you miss her: you must miss her terribly and more than anyone else. I miss her too.” Her dark eyes glaze with tears but she doesn't cry. Skye blinks a few times and then continues talking. “You and her... You were my first real friends.”

 

Fitz stares at her, heart twisting in his chest. He knows the feeling of being lonely and then finding someone that just... _understands_.

 

Jemma was that person for him. Jemma was everything for him.

 

“I-I miss her a lot and I miss how things were before,” Skye turns to the side and hastily wipes a hand across her face. Fitz doesn't move or say anything, giving her time. He knows what she means by _before_ : before Hydra, before Ward's betrayal… Before everything shattered to pieces.

 

“Everything is different now. She's not here and you... You're just shutting everyone out and I-I miss talking to you. I know that you're hurting and I want to help you... but Fitz, you're trying to find something impossible here.”

 

She looks at him with a heartbroken gaze and he realises that she's worried for his sanity. She must think that he's literally losing it and that he's trying to find a way to find a dead person. She's probably thinking that she's going to lose another friend.

 

“Skye,” he moves forward to take the tablet from her hands and opens a file that has a few notes about the Particle Accelerator Complex. “It _is_ possible: I saw her.”

 

Skye stares at the formula-filled file blankly and then at him. The concern in her eyes overwhelms him. He has to make her understand.

 

“Think of-” _What was the woman's name again?_ “Hannah. And that man from the plant? Tobias?”

 

“The guy that attacked us here? The one that-?” She freezes mid-sentence and looks at the notes and then at him. “He travelled through different worlds.”

 

“It can be created... The-the-” He drums his fingers again and squeezes his eyes in concentration. “The passage. It's like a portal. Remember Thor in London?”

 

“Yeah...” Skye looks at his notes in disbelief. “And-and you really think you saw Simmons?”

 

“In the lab. She was different from the one I... _we_ know.” He has to convince her that he is not mental. He has to make her understand.

 

“How different?”

 

“She had shorter hair.” He waves mid-air at the height of his shoulders. “Jemma's never had short hair in all the years that I've known her.” Skye stares at him, the look of disbelief fading away. “She was thinner, tired-” She looked _exhausted_ if he’s being honest.

 

“Okay... So, if this multi-universe stuff is true, you want to try and contact this other-Simmons?”

 

He nods.

 

“How?”

 

“I'm working on it.” He has no clue at the moment, actually…

 

“I don't get why you were down in the basement though.” Skye's eyes are sharp now: she's focused on the task, getting the information she needs and analysing it.

 

“Jemma's notes.”

 

“Hmmm...” Skye nods and then looks up with a soft gaze. “And while you were looking for her things, you found the medpod...”

 

“Yeah...” He stares at her and dares to ask a question that's been in his head since he woke up. “Why didn't you tell me it was there? ” Her brown eyes widen slightly. “Down there.”

 

“Coulson told us to keep it from you,” Skye says apologetically. “And...well... he was right. I mean... What good would it have done for you to know it was there? To see it?”

 

 _Probably none_ , he thinks, but at least he wouldn't be left out. As usual.

 

“Don't keep things from me,” he says softly and Skye looks at him with guilty eyes.

 

“Okay,” she agrees. “But you have to do the same. No more solo-actions.” Fitz nods. “I can help you. Just tell me what to do.”

 

Fitz knows that she’s a little too helpful. He knows Skye: she’s caring and would do anything for her friends (and family) but her not-questioning him is suspicious.  It occurs to him that she could go and tell everything to May and Coulson, but he doesn’t have any other choice than to trust her.

 

He taps a file on his tablet and shows it to her.

 

“Wormholes, portals... Visser effect?” She looks at him in confusion. “What's this stuff?”

 

“Things I have to understand before trying anything...” He replies. “Can you find me all the-the...” _Bloody words_. “-the information you can get on these?”

 

Skye looks at him oddly: it's a mixture of concern and relief.

 

“Of course,” she says, getting up. “I'll also get you Simmons' notes.” She checks the time. “You know what? I'll get the notes now. The others are all busy around the Playground -drinking I think- and May's in Coulson's office debriefing. That's why I managed to sneak you back here without raising hell in the base. And let me tell you: you weigh a hell of a lot.” She does an exaggerated eye-roll. “I had to drag you down the corridor -and I _just_ deleted that bit from the security feed because _can you imagine_ Billy seeing that? It was no fun, Fitz. I bumped my shoulders and head while trying to keep you balanced on me.”

 

Fitz looks at her and tries to imagine Skye trying to be stealthy while hauling him around and chuckles slightly.

 

“Hey-”

 

He looks up when Skye calls him from his door, on her way out.

 

She smiles. “That's a sound I haven't heard in a bit.”

 

He blinks as he recalls telling her the same thing ages ago.

 

“Yeah...” he admits. “It's... It's been a while.”

 

“More than three months...”

 

Fitz nods and Skye smiles slightly again.  “I'll be back in a bit and we'll start working.”

 

“Okay...” He manages a tiny smile. “Thank you, Skye.”

 

Skye nods and leaves quietly. Fitz looks at the file in front of him on the tablet.

 

Yes, he has to figure this out...

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Neither of us is American and neither of us gets today as a holiday, so we figured our fic shouldn't either! So please consider this as our way of giving thanks to all of you who are reading and telling us your theories and leaving lovely comments. We so appreciate it! Happy Thanksgiving to those who are celebrating and Happy Thursday to those who aren't! ;)

* * *

“Coulson’s going to kill us,” Mack notes as he pushes a cart loaded with boxes that are marked with the ominous Hydra tags in order to disguise its real contents. “Well, to be fair he’ll kill you first and then me for just helping you with this insane idea.”

 

“ It’s not insane!”  Jemma hisses, her eyes darting from side to side.  “Stop saying that.  And if you don’t hurry Coulson will catch us and then you’ll  _ really  _ have to worry about him killing you.”

 

Mack shakes his head.  “You realize this generator isn’t the lightest thing in the world, right?”  He says with a chuckle in his voice as he continues to push the cart behind Jemma.  

She takes the next corner first, her tablet in hand as she waves for him to follow her, guaranteeing a cleared hallway.  

 

“Where are we going anyway?” He asks.  “Couldn’t this have been done in the Bus?  At least there we’d be less likely to get caught.” 

 

Jemma shrugs.  “Honestly?  Maybe. But I think the resonance is higher where we’re going.  When Fitz appeared he wasn’t clear, exactly.  Like an old television set not tuned to the right channel, you know?”

 

“So you think that it’ll be clearer wherever you’re taking me?”

 

She nods.  “There’s a chance.  I have to try.”

 

“Even if Coulson runs you through the ringer over it?”  Jemma nods again and Mack shakes his head.  “You are one crazy lady.”

 

Jemma smiles and nudges him with her shoulder.  “You know I used to be crazier.”  She points for him to take the entryway on the left and he follows her direction.  

 

Mack turns toward her, disbelieving.  “You?  Goody-two-shoes?  I don’t believe it for a second.”

 

She laughs.  “Really. It’s true.  My parents sent me to a boarding school when I was ten.  They were the world’s leading field researchers at the time in biochemical warfare, so they were constantly being called everywhere to present on this topic or that.  Since there was no one else to care after me, they sent me to boarding school.”  Jemma makes a face at the memory.  “For years I did pretty much everything I could to get expelled from that bloody place.”

 

“And what happened?”

 

She shrugs.  “I met Fitz.  He was doing the same thing.  He caught me in the lab about to cover the desks with nitrogen triiodide.”

 

He narrows his eyes at her.  “What were you planning to do?  Turn everything purple?”

 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.  But Fitz-- who all along I’d just thought was this weird little creature from chem class that hated me-- told me that he had a better idea.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Jemma nods.  “He said we should mix some thermite and pile it on the headmaster’s front walkway.”

 

“And?”

 

She smiles at the memory.  “When the headmaster tossed his cigarette onto the ground, it blasted into the concrete.  Right down to the dirt.”

 

“Jemma Simmons!”  Mack says, laughing.  He bats at a bead of sweat on his forehead with his forearm and continues to push the cart past a series of alphabetized vaults.  “Then what happened?”

 

“As you can imagine we were expelled almost immediately.  There we were, two fifteen year olds sitting in his office, his hand at the ready to call our parents to collect us when in walked Nick Fury.”

 

“The hell?”

 

She nods.  “Right?  I think the headmaster nearly passed out at the very sight of him.  Fury told us to wait in the hall and a few minutes later we were called back into the office.  We were to be reinstated, with several conditions.”

 

Mack frowns.  “Conditions?”

 

“Fury said he’d wanted us eventually for S.H.I.E.L.D and that the very reason we were at that particular school was because the organization saw something in us.  Looking back on it, it was entirely vague and nonsensical in light of how poorly both of our grades were at the time.  But it meant something.  To both of us.  After that we took school a bit more seriously; I mean, Fitz always took it fairly seriously, but together we started to actually accomplish things.”  Jemma shrugs dismissively.  “Important things that led us to the Academy, then Sci-Ops and finally Coulson’s team.”

 

“Where everything went to hell?”

 

She doesn’t respond.  Instead she comes to a stop before an unmarked door and motions with her tablet. “This should be it.”

 

Mack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pick and tension wrench.  “You’re sure this is where it’s at?” He asks cautiously before placing the tension wrench into the lower portion of the keyhole. 

 

“I’m certain,” she says nodding.  “Each of these rooms is an evidence locker.  I used Koenig’s badge tracker to locate Fitz’s things.  I’m certain this is where they’re storing everything that Coulson confiscated for the investigation; I can smell the sodium chloride.” 

 

He cocks his head over his shoulder to look back at her.  “You can smell the medpod?”  He asks rhetorically, shaking his head.  “You  _ are  _ crazy.” 

 

“I’ve disarmed the room, so whenever you’re ready--”

 

He turns the handle of the door and pushes it open.  “Ready.”

 

She sucks in a deep and shattered breath, willing herself strong and resilient to whatever lays beyond the threshold of the unmarked room.  Squaring her shoulders she marches forward.  “Let’s do this, shall we?” 

 

Jemma keeps her vision focused, unwilling to allow the emotional impressions left by the medpod to overwhelm her.  She holds the door open for Mack as he pushes the heavy cart with the hidden Asimovian generator atop it through the door.  

 

“Where do you want this?”  He asks.

 

She scans the darkened room, the singular bulb hanging from its centre the only light guiding their way through the piles of boxes.  She begins to walk, allowing the door to close behind them and leads the way down the room’s center.  It’s then that she sees what she’d been looking for.  

 

“There,” she says pointing to the rusted frame of the medpod, tucked deep into a corner.  Her voice hitches slightly at the very sight of it.  “Right there.” 

 

...  
  


Fitz spends the night reading notes and  during the day he’s  building devices that might help him reach Jemma.

 

Skye had brought him a box filled with folders and notebooks and Jemma's tablet. She helped him sort through the notes until he found the ones regarding the mission at the particle accelerator complex.

 

They work together: he reads and builds and she finds him information about wormholes. It’s late at night when they're in his bunk with him on the bed and her on the floor. Skye’s laptop sits on her legs and her back is pressed to the wall. In the morning, he’s cooped up in the lab and she pops in whenever she isn't busy with the team. She manages to give him many files that have lengthy explanations about multidimensional tunnels and portals.

 

Before she leaves that night (“ _ May'll kick me in the ass if I'm late for morning drills!” _ ), she looks at him and smiles. Fitz is quick to notice that she's still worried for him but she doesn't voice it loudly. She helps him as much as she can and lets him be: she has stopped asking questions.

 

However, he soon realises that she hasn't kept their conversations to herself...

 

May brings him lunch and asks: “Do you need a hand here in the lab?”  
  


He's working on the Asimovian generator after spending hou rs  trying to build a hard drive. He berates his slowness: it would have taken him less than an  _ hour  _ before....

 

At her question, he stares and stops himself from asking if she even  _ knows  _ what he's doing. He's currently dealing with the solution that should trigger the generator to work; there are pipettes and small beakers full of liquid on his workbench. One of Jemma’s notebooks is open in front of him with the list of elements and measurements clearly listed on the page: she invented this solution and without her notes, he wouldn’t know what to do. It seems that she is helping him even now...

 

“No,” he replies with a slight shake of his head. “Thanks...” But May stays and helps him measure the elements that make the solution and pours it into a vial.

 

Trip drops by during the day, idly chatting with him or with Skye when she's there. It's not an uncommon occurrence but Fitz notices that the specialist is always there when he has to assemble a heavy component or lift something around the lab.

 

He wonders what game they're playing: May with her steady grasp and cool attitude, Trip with his easy smile and muscles and Skye with her bright smile and hidden looks.

 

Are they waiting for him to break down?  Are they all just expecting him to realise that what he's doing is fruitless? Or are they hoping to see a tangible evidence that he's gone mental?

 

He sort of expects Coulson to stride into the lab and give him a talk sooner or later. Thankfully, the Director is too busy rebuilding SHIELD to worry about the mental struggles of his team's engineer.

 

Fitz decides to play along and acts normally - _ carefully _ \- not wanting to give his teammates any sort of warning that he knows what they're doing. He has to swallow his pride and just accept their help.

 

And if he's wrong about all of this, well... Then they'll know that they've been right from the  start about his condition...

 

But he  _ knows  _ that he's not wrong about this.  He’s sure that he’s going down the right path.

 

He's gathered enough information now and knows that he needs to find a place where a gateway can be opened. Or at least created.

 

Wormholes are tricky things: they need particular conditions to be generated. He has worked out the generator and the solution: the devices with which to establish contact.

Now, he needs a location.

 

His first thought is the lab because he’s seen Jemma there but he soon realises that it’s not enough. He needs a place where there’s a stronger energy flux, stronger feelings… A place that has the largest emotional impact for them.

 

No place better than the medpod.

 

“ I still don't get why we’re going  _ there _ .”

 

Fitz turns to his side, pushing the basement door open and allowing Skye to walk in front of him.

 

“It's the best place where I can make a-a-” He scratches the back of his head. “A-contact.”

 

“In the medpod?” Skye looks sceptical and holds up the bag she's carrying. “And what's in here again?”

 

Fitz almost rolls his eyes.  “A-a- Er… A-”  _ Damn it. _ “ It measures fre-frequency waves.” He points to the bag. “It might help once the generator starts working.”

 

“Hmm.” Skye frowns, looking inside the bag, holding the ensemble of wires connected to a reading panel. “It measures frequencies? So... If that generator-thing freaks out, this should tell us.”

 

Fitz snorts slightly.

 

“Yeah.” Trust Skye to simplify a complex physics concept. It took him three days to design and build the device once he’d realised that he needed something to monitor the gateway’s consistency; normal stability values couldn’t be applied to wormholes and he needed something that could show him the fluctuation degree.

 

He opens the vault door where the medpod is located and takes a deep breath.  He has gotten better at it now: he's been here a few times since his panic attack.  Once with Trip when they carried down the generator and a couple of times on his own while the team was out. He’d just stare at the pod, thinking. Hundreds of what-ifs crossed his mind and jumbled his heart.

 

It's a rather easy feat to play with his emotions lately. His chest twisted oddly whenever he caught a little side comment in Jemma's notes (“ _ Fitz did this ridiculous thing while working- We had a brilliant idea in the lab! -Fitz invented this incredible device.” _ )

 

He cried himself to sleep when he found a folder full of pictures on Jemma's tablet: eight years worth of friendship, partnership and his hidden feelings. Now his feelings seemed blatantly obvious to the eye as it was displayed in front of him in a collection of pictures; he had loved Jemma and hadn’t realised it for years.

 

The tears just drenched his pillow....

 

His resolve to see her again -talk to her- is stronger than ever.

 

“Turn the generator on,” he tells Skye as he takes the bag from her hand and starts to set the frequency reader's sensors around the medpod and in the corners of the room. He then picks up his tablet and sets the device to work before walking to the generator and uncapping the vial of solution that should trigger its power.  
  


“Stand back,” he tells Skye, handing her his tablet. “And check if the wave-wave- wavelengths turn irregular.”

 

“Okay,” she replies, taking a few steps behind him.

 

Fitz nods and empties the vial into the generator.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the positive feedback it means so much to us. Hope you enjoy this latest update!

* * *

“Are you sure you’ve turned it on properly?” Jemma asks, indignant.

 

Mack sighs, frustrated, his eyes never leaving the stuttering gears on the side of the generator.  “Yes.  Everything is working. Relax, Tiny.”  

 

She rolls her eyes at the use of his nickname for her; she can tell that he’s trying to calm her rattled nerves, but it’s of no use.

 

“It’s not working,” she says as she stares into the medpod, disappointment clear in her voice.  “I thought for sure that it would--.”  She lowers her eyes to the ground, mentally calculating the stereoisomerism. Everything that she’d done should’ve resulted in their success.  The exotic matter in the form of the Ruang solution should’ve set the Asimovian into overdrive putting in motion the gravitational waves...

 

“Hey Simmons--”

 

“What?” Jemma exclaims, frustrated that he’d interrupted her train of thought.  When she turns and looks down at him kneeling next to the generator, she finds his eyes wide and he’s staring past her.  “What?” She repeats.  “What’s the matter with you?”  His mouth pulls into an astonished grin as his finger points slowly toward the medpod.  

 

Her heart thuds against her chest as realization dawns on her.  She forces herself to follow his gaze and all thought stalls in her brain when she sees the glassy translucent film where the wrecked exit once was.

 

“Holy--” 

 

The shadow of Mack’s body darkens the dim light that manages to eke out from the fissure before them.  There’s a crack of sound as the muddled image comes into focus.  

 

“Is that him?”  Mack whispers from behind her. 

 

She nods, unable to speak.

-:-  
  


Fitz doesn't notice any change in the room at first.  He stares at the generator, wondering if he botched up the solution. His mind goes through the calculations and measurements - _ slowly _ , he loathes to admit it- when he hears Skye gasp. Then he hears the soft buzzing coming from the frequency readers' sensors and a dim light shines before him.

 

There's a soft noise of static as though the gateway is trying to stabilize itself and the images go from white-grey to coloured. He can make out lines and shapes which become more defined.  It's more or less the same vault in the Playground's basement; even the lighting seems the same.

 

Fitz is too stunned by the gateway's apparition to actually wrap his mind around the fact that he's actually  _ seeing  _ another dimension.

 

He stands and takes a step forward but stops immediately when the buzzing sound from the sensors gets louder. It seems that the window is still stabilising itself. He doesn't want to do anything that might make it collapse so he just stops and stares as the film stops shimmering and he can clearly see the other side.

 

And... there she is.

 

“Oh my God...” Skye's stunned voice reaches his ears but he doesn't even bother to turn around. He just looks at the woman that stands in front of him who stares back with wide, watery eyes.

 

The amber eyes that he thought he'd never see again if not in his dreams.

 

Fitz feels his throat constrict and his heart thumps loudly in his chest but he somehow manages a smile.

 

“Jemma...”

 

“Fitz?” She calls in return.  She can feel Mack place his hand on her shoulder as though to steady her.  “Is it really you?”  

 

She steps forward, desperate to reach through the entryway-- to reach for him-- but Mack pulls her back, rooting her in place.  She shoots him a glare.  “What?” She hisses.

 

He shakes his head.  “It could collapse.  We barely understand any of this.”

 

Jemma returns her attention to Fitz, pushing Mack’s hand from her shoulder when she steps as close as she can to the opening without crossing the threshold.  

 

Her eyes sting and she can feel her lip quiver at the very sight of him.  “I’ve missed you,” she decides on at last, her voice barely above a whisper.  “I’ve missed you so much.” 

 

Her words make his heart twist in his chest and he feels his emotions constrict his throat.

 

She's there.

 

She's beautiful as always. She’s standing in front of him.

 

_ Jemma is there. _

 

Fitz steps forward towards the gateway without realising it. It's Skye's startled gasp and the loud ringing coming from the frequency sensors that stop him from almost touching the bright window.

 

She’d said that she missed him.  _ Did she even know how much he-? _

 

“ God, Jemma,” he says softly. “I missed you too.” He swallows dryly. “I wanted to- to...”  _ Not now. Not here _ . “-to see you again.”

 

She shakes her head, eyes flitting to the floor.  She can feel the heat upon her cheeks.  “Am I not... “  She pauses, choosing her words carefully.  Everything is so strange,  _ so ridiculous. _ It’s literally out of this world.  “Is there not a version of me there?  With you, I mean?” 

 

She feels like she should introduce herself; the rational part of her knows that she doesn’t know the man before her.  He’s practically a stranger.  But at the same time her heart whispers that he’s not.  She’s just as drawn to him as she was when she was fifteen years old and looking to get expelled from her boarding school. 

  
“ No,” he says softly, shaking his head slowly, eyes never leaving her. “You... You're... not here. Not anymore.”

 

She’s nervous; he can tell that by the way her eyes flit to his face and then to the ground, a tinge of pink dusting her cheeks.

 

Fitz knows that the woman in front of him isn't technically  _ his  _ Jemma, but she's identical and his heart can't seem to stop pounding as he looks at her.  Same amber eyes and soft features, same little tender smile and nose scrunch when she's thinking -and  _ there  _ it is, as she looks at him thoughtfully.

 

But he also notices the slight differences: her shorter hair and fatigued state. She looks as though she could use a few days' worth of rest and a couple of meals as well.

 

Her question makes him ponder for a moment before realisation slowly hits him.

 

“I'm not there, am I?” He asks, realising that she might be a perfect copy of himself, of his grieving self. “My version?”

 

He runs a hand across his face because the universe -or whatever entity that is ruling their fates at the moment- is indeed very cruel if it allowed them to be parted in two separate dimensions.

 

She winces at his question and shakes her head.  “No.  You’re not.”   _ It’s my fault _ , she wants to add.  _ I let you die _ .  Instead she steels herself and forces her voice into what she knows must be a familiar, lighthearted inflection.  “You were-- well the version of you here-- was quite right about the Ruang solution,” she blurts, changing the subject. “I didn’t think it could work with the ratty old Asimovian.  But yet there you are.”  She motions toward him with a tinge of nervous laughter upon her voice.  “It’s quite amazing, isn’t it?”   

 

Fitz’s only response is to nod in reply and he seems to look in desperation off to the side.  For a moment she wonders who hides in the shadows of his world.   

 

Jemma feels Mack shifting behind her, making his presence more known.  She suspects that he’s going to tell her that time is running low, that the wormhole will close and that her solution is running dry.  She shakes her head, warning him off and folds her arms along her waist.  If her mum was alive she would say she’s being defiant.  Fitz would say…

 

_ What would Fitz say? _

 

She tilts her head a bit to the side and studies the man before her. He’s different somehow.  _ Changed _ .  

 

Jemma had never been an exceptional liar but Fitz had always been the only one to catch the little nuances in her tone when she didn’t want to let people know how she was really feeling.

 

He thinks she is hiding something. Her voice is... off.  And by the way Jemma speaks now, he knows that she's keeping something from him.  It makes him momentarily wonder:  _ what  _ has happened to his version in her world?

 

He frowns slightly when she talks about the solution and generator.  _ He  _ had the idea that the device could work with a solution? What is the Ruang solution?

 

In his world he had had to read all of their combined notes (mostly hers) and go through a good deal of information that Skye had found before creating the solution. And despite that, he had built a device to monitor everything in case it fluctuated and blew up.

 

That side's Fitz is pretty brilliant if what she’s suggesting is true. Perhaps he was as much as he had been... _ before _ . The thought makes something weigh heavily in his chest.

 

He nods when she laughs softly, musing loudly about the chances of actually creating a gateway. She looks like his Jemma right now. So much like her…

 

He wants to talk to her desperately. He wants to ask her if she has found any discrepancy in the fluctuation values or if she’s worried about the gateway’s wavering consistency.

 

But he can't.

 

Fitz swallows as the words slip out of his brain making gaps in the sentences that he wants to say and forcing him into silence.

 

He’s noticed that he struggles more when he's nervous or under pressure and it seems that seeing his dead-partner's multi-dimensional counterpart scrambles his mind (and heart) as well.

 

He can't show her how broken he is right now.

 

He turns to his side and finds Jemma looking at him: his mind-Jemma with longer hair and a small smile on her face. She appears when his brain is struggling the most and just smiles or talks softly, easing some of the pressure out of him.

 

But right now, she isn’t helping him. She just makes him realise how far gone he is.

 

He hears Skye approach him and she gently lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly in a friendly fashion, making him turn to look at her. She’s staring at him with sadness but he also sees a mix of pity and understanding in her eyes. Fitz realises that she has seen him struggle like this everyday for the better part of three months. She understands what he's going through…

 

His eyes flit to the woman that only he can see and who is smiling at him encouragingly, eyes bright and understanding. He can almost hear her say  ‘ _ You’re doing alright, Fitz. You’re almost there.’ _

 

This Jemma understands him better than anyone else, knows exactly what is going through in his head. He wonders if the Jemma on the other side of the gateway can read him as easily…

 

Skye smiles at him and then turns to the bright portal.

 

Jemma hears a voice call her name in greeting, but before the person can step fully into the light of Fitz’s side there’s a loud crack that rattles her to the core.  She stumbles backward half from fright and half in shock and Mack has to grab hold of her in order to keep her upright. 

 

When she steadies herself and returns her attention back to the dimensional window she finds herself staring instead into the blasted interior remains of the medpod. 

 

“What happened?”  She asks, panicked.  

 

Mack quickly grabs their mobile equipment and begins to stuff it into the Hydra storage containers.  “It closed,” he explains hurriedly.  “The Asimovian can’t sustain the gravitational waves that long; it’s too damn old.”  

 

“Bloody hell,” she mutters angrily, kneeling down to help him.  “It wasn’t enough time.  I need more time!”

 

He shakes his head.  “I’m not sure that there’ll ever be enough time,” Mack says. “But that-- That was unbelievable.  I can’t believe--”

 

“ \--We did it?” She finishes rhetorically with a smile pulling at her lips.  Her mind races and she knows of one certainty: what can be done once could surely be replicated.  She  _ will  _ see Fitz again. 

 

Mack nods, snapping the lid to a case shut and clicking its locks into place.  “But if we don’t get out of here soon--”

 

“Coulson will find you?”

 

Jemma and Mack both jump with surprise.  There, in the shadowed doorway of the storage vault stands Director Coulson, hands tucked casually in his pockets as if daring them to challenge his authority. 

 

“Sir!”  Jemma squeaks, rising to her feet.  “We were just going through Fitz’s--”

 

“You weren’t,” he interrupts, his lips in a tight line, his voice attempting masquerade his ire.  “I explicitly told you not to go near the medpod and yet, here I find out.”

 

“Sir, I can--”

 

“Enough!”  Coulson’s voice bounces off the metallic walls of the vault.  “I want you in my office in five minutes.  And Mack?  You can leave everything where it stands.  It’s officially considered S.H.I.E.L.D evidence.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Everything happens suddenly.

 

There's a loud crack as though something breaks to pieces and then the gateway disappears in front of them. Skye jumps back, barely hiding a shriek while Fitz's eyes widen.

 

“ _ No! _ ”  He exclaims and steps forward, making the frequency sensors buzz wildly but the window is gone and he's only looking at the shreds of the medpod. The room is quiet again.

 

_ No, no, no… _

 

He crouches down to check the generator and sees that the solution has lowered exponentially but there's still residue in the tank; whatever caused the communication to disrupt was from the other side. Fitz feels a wave of dread at the thought that something might have gone wrong there.

 

That the Jemma he had seen might be-

 

His heart starts pounding in his chest.

 

“Fitz?”

 

He looks up and his mind-Jemma is there by his side, smiling softly. She gently puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

“It's alright,” she whispers. “We don't know anything about this but there's no need to think the worst. Think about the possible variables here. The drive-”

 

“-drive could be def- def-”

 

“-defective or it might’ve broken up under the strain, yes. Or she might have run-”

 

“-run out of the solution...”

 

“You see? There are so many variables to think about! And... Fitz, you did it! You established contact with another dimension for a few minutes. It was an outlandish concept and you did it.”

 

“ _ We  _ did it,” he whispers softly, looking at her, feeling his heartbeat steady again. “We did it, Jemma.” She beams at him and he feels his lips quirk up too.

 

“Fitz?”

 

He looks up and sees Skye staring at him with a cautious expression.

 

“It worked,” he says, standing.

 

“ Yeah...” The hacker glances at the spot where the gateway had opened and shakes her head. “It's  _ crazy  _ but, yeah, it worked.”

 

“Did you see her?”

 

“Yeah, Simmons...” Skye looks away for a moment and Fitz ignores the fact that her eyes have taken a glassy sheen. Jemma's death had been hard on all of them but he and Skye had taken the brunt of it.

 

“ It  _ worked _ .” He wants to make a point. He isn't crazy or disillusioned: he knows what he's doing. He knew from the start even though the chances were very low.

 

“ Yeah, I know, Fitz,” Skye remarks. “I saw her, but that crack? That sort of old-TV-buzzing-sound? You don't-  _ We  _ don't know anything about it. It could be dangerous...”

 

Fitz doesn't like her tone.

 

“I can try again,” he says, glancing at the generator. It worked well: the cooling sensors managed to stop the over-heating process. And the frequency sensors didn’t activate.

 

The gateway had been stable.

 

“I think we should leave.” She stares at him again, eyes flitting across his face. Fitz wonders what she thinks right now about him: is he still borderline crazy or has he regained sanity?

 

Skye smiles uncertainly.  “I think that today's attempt has been enough. Maybe you can try again once we know more about it?”

 

Fitz knows that he won't get to try again. She's going to tell Coulson probably, and she'll surely tell May and Trip about this.  They won't let him.

 

“Skye does have a point, Fitz.” He turns to his side and Jemma is there. “The solution worked but it depletes awfully quick. Perhaps, we can find a way to make it last longer...”

 

He nods at her and turns back to Skye. The hacker's face is troubled but she smiles that forced, uncertain smile again.

 

“We'll try another day,” he concedes and she looks immensely relieved.

 

They leave the vault without gathering any of the devices or equipment and head back upstairs. They're both quiet and Fitz's fingers drum softly on the back of his tablet as he walks, thoughts swirling in his mind.

 

Skye tries to coax him into coming to the common room but Fitz declines, saying that he's tired and he needs to rest. Surprisingly, the hacker doesn't insist and that just cements his suspicion that she's going to tell everything to the rest of the Team.

 

When he shuts himself in his bunk, Fitz taps on his tablet as soon as he sits on his bed.

 

“What are you doing?” He looks up and Jemma is there again.

 

“Skye will tell Coulson about it,” he remarks, tapping on the screen. “He won't allow it to happen again. You saw her face: she thinks that-”

 

“ -it's dangerous. Well, I can't blame her for thinking  _ that _ .”

 

“But I know wha-what-”

 

“-what you're doing. I know, Fitz.”  She sits next to him.  “What are you going to do?” She asks softly and he looks at her.

  
“I'll try again tonight: I have another vial of solution.”

 

“I thought May helped you make only one of it.”

 

“I hid one from her; I told her that I broke a vial while putting it away. You know shaky hands and all...”

 

“Oh Fitz! You're terrible.” She looks almost reproachful. How many times had he seen that expression at the Academy? Why does it still make his heart clench?

 

“Then you don't want to know what I'm doing now.”

 

She peers at his tablet.

 

“Is that the camera feed?” Jemma queries, looking at him. He nods. “You can't shut off a security camera: people would notice. Koenig monitors those cameras the whole time.”

 

“I can rig the feed. Put a video on loop for a few hours.” He looks at her. “Just for the time that I get down in the vault and... talk to you again.”

 

“ You  _ are  _ talking to me now.”

 

“You know what I mean...”

 

She blinks at him and smiles softly. He looks at the tablet and allows his finger to slowly tap the screen again.

 

He needs to see her face and hear her voice.

 

He needs to look at the real Jemma once again.

 

-

 

“This is actually a bit thrilling.”

 

“ Really now?”  He looks at Jemma - _ mind-Jemma _ , he corrects himself- with an amused look.

 

“Well, yes!” She looks affronted. “We're sneaking in the dark, going to do something that's probably prohibited-”

 

“Technically, I am,” he corrects. “I’ll end up in trouble if I’m caught.”

 

“I won’t leave you alone.”

 

Fitz wonders how that single sentence can illicit joy and scare him altogether…

 

He walks into the vault and is glad to see that the generator and sensors are still there. He feared that the team might have hidden everything away…

 

_ Now or never _ , he thinks, taking out the vial of solution. He just hopes that Jemma is there on the other side to see him.

 

-:-

 

“What happened?” Skye asks hesitantly, watching from the bunk’s doorway as Jemma pulls a duffle bag from under her bed.  “He didn’t fire you did he?”

 

Jemma pulls open a drawer and begins to move her clothes to the bag.  She shakes her head.  “Arguably, it’s worse.”

 

“Worse?”

 

Jemma turns toward her friend, a sweater clutched anxiously between her hands.  “He’s sending me undercover.”

 

“What?  Where?”

 

Jemma shrugs and tosses the sweater onto the bed behind her.  “I won’t know the details, but it’s at the Hydra labs.  I’ll know more when the mission is ready to be executed.  I’m meant to leave tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow?!”  She plants her hands on her hips and screws her face.  “That’s ridiculous.  Was he really that mad?  I mean it’s not like you broke anything.  You didn’t even… what would you call it? Jump? Cross over?”  

 

Deflated, Jemma sits on the edge of her bed, her fingers twisting in her lap.  “I compromised the investigation into Fitz’s death.  Now they can’t use the medpod as evidence against Garrett when they put him on trial.  Coulson thinks he’ll likely go free.”

 

“Garrett’s a psychopath,” Skye notes matter-of-factly as she moves to sit next to Jemma on the bed.  “If they don’t get him for Fitz’s death, there are probably hundreds of other deaths they’ll nail him for.” 

 

Jemma sighs; the hacker is right but Coulson’s order stings just the same.  She’s a terrible liar, always has been and she feels woefully unprepared to work in a lab next to actual Hydra scientists. Then there’s the small matter of the gateway and possible bridge to another dimension she’d managed to create.

 

Skye wraps her arms around Jemma’s shoulders.  “You need to stop beating yourself up over Fitz’s death.  There’s nothing you could’ve done differently.”

 

Jemma disagrees.  

 

“Did I ever tell you that Fitz and I dated once?”  

 

Skye pulls her arms back and squares her shoulders.  “What? No!  When?” She sputters.  “Did you guys break up?  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

 

Jemma shakes her head.  “We never broke up.  Not exactly anyway.  It was barely two weeks that we were together, right before we got picked up by Sci-Ops.  It seems stupid thinking back on it, but we’d both agreed to put things on ice.”

 

“Ice?”

 

She smiles at the memory.  “Yeah, literally.  We wrote everything down on one of these superhydrophobic sticky notes that Sci-Ops had just approved for distribution.  The paper doesn’t dissolve so we stuck it into a jar filled with water and put it in the freezer.  It was rather funny at the time.  I suspect our old landlady probably found it after… well, after we’d been forced to go underground and couldn’t pay our rent anymore.” 

 

“What did you write on the note?”

 

She shrugs.  “That we wanted to revisit the idea of an  ‘ _ us’  _ when things calmed down, when we weren’t constantly in demand by S.H.I.E.L.D.  When things were easier.  We didn’t want to have to worry about each other all the time…”

 

“And you did anyway...?”

 

Jemma nods.  Her fingers brush against her face, erasing evidence of the tears that had managed to escape down her cheeks.  “He was my family, Skye.  He was all I had.”  She pauses and takes a deep, shuddering breath.  “I miss him.” 

 

Skye squeezes her hand.  Jemma knows that her friend is unsure of what she can even say to ease her pain, but the silence is comforting its own way.  It allows her to think more clearly, to consider all possible solutions.

 

Something that Skye had said earlier especially echoes in her mind.

 

_ You didn’t even… what would you call it? Jump? Cross over? _

 

“Will you help me?” Jemma asks, breaking their silence.

 

“Help you?  With what?”

 

“I want to open the portal again.  I want to see Fitz once more.”  What she doesn’t say is that she wants to cross the bridge, wants to see if she can jump to Fitz’s world.

 

Skye’s mouth falls open and she bounds to her feet. “No!  I don’t know anything about your little science project and from what Mack said it sounds terrifying.  And dangerous.”

 

Jemma sets her mouth, stubborn and unrelenting.  “I’m going to open it again. But I’d like to do it  _ with  _ you at my side.  I could really use your help.”

 

Skye’s jaw cletches.  Jemma can tell that she’s considering her offer, that a part of her wants to help.  

 

She shakes her head.  “And if it doesn’t work?”

 

Jemma shrugs and measures her reaction.  She knows that it will work, it’s whether she’ll survive that’s in question.  She decides to stick with what she knows to be true: “Then no one will be the wiser and I’ll leave for Coulson’s mission tomorrow.”

 

“And if it works?”

 

“ I’ll get to see Fitz again.”   _ And make things right.  _

 

Skye pales but only nods in reply.  

 

“Will you help me?”

 

The hacker purses her lips as if mulling over the offer.  Jemma is certain her friend will try to talk her out of travelling and she wonders if she’d made a mistake in asking.   _ Perhaps Mack would’ve been a better choice.   _

 

At long last Skye nods, slow and unsure.  “I’ll do it.  I’ll help you.”  She pauses before raising her eyes to meet Jemma’s.  “But give me 15 minutes.  I need to… I need to grab my computer.  Just in case,” she adds hurriedly.  “I’ll meet you there.”

 

...

  
The minutes seem to move at a prolonged pace and when she glances at her wristwatch for what seems like the hundredth time, she notes that the time is already pushing past the twenty minute marker.  Skye is still no where to be seen.  With a shake of her head Jemma begins to unpack and unravel the equipment on her own, grateful that she and Mack hadn’t found time to load the Asimovian on to the cart as she could never have moved it by herself. 

 

“Hey.”  The door to the vault opens suddenly and Skye slides into the room, her laptop satchel at her side.  “Sorry I’m late,” she says removing the bag from her shoulder and tucking it into a corner.  “Coulson was pacing the common room.”  She grabs one end of the box that Jemma is trying to lift and helps her ease it on to the floor.  

 

“How’re you feeling?” Skye asks suddenly and Jemma looks at her curiously.  

 

“I’m fine.”  

 

Her eyes narrow, studying her.  It’s obvious that Skye doesn’t believe her reply and seems to expect an addendum. 

 

“Really,” Jemma assures.  “I’m fine.  I just want to get this all done with.  I want to try again.”

 

There’s a pause and then, “Have you seen Doctor Thomas yet?”

 

Jemma frowns, she hates that everyone is so suddenly  _ involved  _ in her well-being.  “I told you, Skye, I’m fine,” she insists.  “I don’t need Doctor Thomas’ help.  I need  _ yours  _ right now.  Please?” 

 

Skye shakes her head but relents just the same and over the course of the next few minutes, together the two women make light work of unpacking the remaining boxes.  When everything is set up, Skye steps back and Jemma moves to inject the Ruang solution.  

 

“Is that the stuff that opens the portal?”  She asks, her eyes darting toward the door of the evidence vault.

 

“Yes,” Jemma confirms, pressing down on the syringe.  “In just a mo---”  A thunderous pop interrupts her, its sound reverberating off of the walls of the room.  “There!”  She cries out excitedly over the sound.  “It worked!”

 

She can already see Fitz materializing on the other side of the dimensional window and her lips bloom quickly into a smile.

 

“I’m so sorry, Simmons,” Skye says stepping back from the medpod, her head shaking and calling Jemma’s attention.  “I told you before that we were worried about you.”

 

The door swings open and a stunned Jemma watches as Coulson and May march toward her.  Confused, her eyes dart between the director, May and Skye, seeking answers.

 

“Step away from the medpod, Simmons,” Coulson orders, coming to a stop and motioning her toward him.  “What you’re doing is too dangerous.  You’re putting the team at risk. You’re putting yourself at risk...”

 

She shakes her head in reply and looks into the medpod at Fitz who stares back at her bewildered.  His hand twitches and she bobs her shoulders, begging him for a solution.  He doesn’t say anything in return, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling for an answer. At long last, his palm opens and he motions for her. 

 

_ Come.  _

 

Jemma looks back at the three agents who are oblivious to what she’s been invited to do.  It’s life or death; she could survive or… 

 

Everything could collapse.

 

She pinches her eyes shut, dares herself forward and steps into the vortex of the gateway, allowing it to swallow her whole. 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The chapters will be getting longer from here on out. Due to a scheduling conflict, look for the next chapter to appear on Wednesday this week. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Fitz's eyes widen when the gateway suddenly opens with a loud crack, blinding him.  He had been pacing in the vault for ten minutes trying to understand why no opening had appeared when he had poured the solution into the generator and switched it on; even the frequency sensors had been still.  He had feared that opening the gateway had been a lucky attempt that he couldn't replicate.

 

But now he's staring at the bright window and he sees Jemma's face and he instantly feels the tension drain away from him. Unlike that morning, the gateway isn't constantly rippling and shimmering: there are moments when it's steady and Fitz can make out the beaming smile on Jemma's face.

 

His heart does a painful twist: he thought he'd never see that smile again.

 

He takes a step forward, careful not to set off the sensors and hopes that he’ll be able  to speak without stuttering when he sees her turn to her side with wide eyes. He hears vague voices in the background but cannot recognise them through the hum of the gateway.

 

“Wha-?” The question doesn't even make it out of his mouth when he sees a range of emotions flashing across Jemma's face: confusion, betrayal and then... panic?

 

He's sure that the same feeling courses through his veins when she turns to look at him pleadingly. It looks as though she's asking for his help but he doesn't know what to do.

 

_ What the hell is happening on her side?! _

 

_ Is she in danger?  _ Perhaps, someone wants to take the tech and exploit it. He can’t help but think about Loki and the Asgardians: a stream of thought that doesn’t help him in the slightest.

 

He tries to come up with something to tell her, anything that will let him know what is happening but words fail him again. His mind is focused on Jemma and her helpless face and all he can think of is his inability to be understood.

 

That’s when he remembers that they can fix anything together.

 

They need to talk, communicate somehow.

 

He gestures for her to come nearer, so that they can be close enough to talk without disrupting the stability of the wormhole. Jemma stares at him for a moment, then turns to her side and looks back at him.  She looks scared and he has to fight the urge to tell her that everything is alright but then her expression shifts to determination.

 

Fitz feels a sense of foreboding.  _ What is she-? _

 

His eyes widen when she moves forward with her eyes squeezed shut. She's getting closer to the gateway.

 

She is  _ too  _ close.

 

“ _ Jemma, no _ !” He shouts, moving forward himself, not bothering with the loud buzzing that quickly changes to an array of alert tones.

 

But he doesn't care.

 

Jemma is going to cross the gateway. She’s going to jump through the wormhole. There is no tangible probability that she can survive this.

 

He won't lose her again. He  _ has to  _ stop her.

 

His hand is about to touch the portal and he feels a warmth tingle his fingers. The buzzing sound of static fills his ears and from his position the gateway becomes a swirl of white lights that shift to grey.

 

Fitz is ready to thrust his hand through the window and jump forward when cool fingers encircle his wrist and the feeling is so achingly familiar that he freezes on the spot, shell-shocked.

 

Seconds later, a body slams against his and he stumbles backwards, barely keeping his balance.

 

He's hit by the scent of lavender that had long faded from the blanket that he keeps in his bunk.  He's overwhelmed by the familiar, warm feeling of well-known arms around his neck and the soft hair tickling his chin.

 

His breath hitches as he realises the enormity of what has happened and his hands tighten their hold around the small, trembling body that's curled into him.

 

“Jemma?” He whispers, choking out the words.

 

She pulls back from him, her heart in her throat.  “We need to turn it off!  Quick! Before--” She doesn’t finish her sentence as she reaches for the Asimovian generator.  “Do you know how to turn it off?”  She asks, her eyes darting to the gateway.  She can see Coulson staring back at her; she can only assume that he’s deciding whether to follow her across the bridge. 

 

She won’t let them take her back.  Not yet.    

 

_ Maybe not ever. _

 

“Hurry! Please, Fitz!” 

 

It's strange how her voice and tone can still make him react automatically despite it being months since she's ordered him around.

 

He nods and moves forward, suddenly aware of the mayhem around him. The frequency sensors are all screaming in alert and the gateway has turned darker, a shade of light blue and he doesn't know if the sudden change in colour is good.

 

He thinks it probably isn't.

  
His eyes focus on the other side and he's surprised to see familiar faces. There's a wide-eyed and shocked May who is holding back a tearful Skye, and right at the front is a severe-looking and thoroughly mad Coulson.

 

The Director's eyes widen slightly when they stare at each other; the older man's lips move but Fitz can't hear anything with the loud buzzing noise. He only makes out something that resembles ' _ Come back _ ' as he points to Jemma.

 

Fitz turns and sees her trembling behind him, eyes glossed with tears as she shakes her head.

 

He doesn't know how much their worlds differ but he's pretty sure that Phil Coulson cannot be this mad unless something bad has occurred. Jemma must have done something reckless or dangerous or must have broken some fundamental rule.

 

Perhaps opening a multi-dimensional portal can be classified under rule-breaking and reckless action…

 

Fitz turns to look at the window and shakes his head. He can't do this; he cannot let her leave. Not when it's something short of a miracle that she’s survived going through the gateway in the first place.

 

Not when Jemma Simmons is right there with him. Once again.

 

“I'm sorry,” he mutters, still shaking his head, and he crouches down to cut the power to the generator. A sudden crack echoes throughout the vault and the gateway vanishes from sight.

Everything is eerily silent when he stands and turns.

 

He fears finding himself staring at an empty space or, worse, his mind-Jemma with her soft smile and straight ponytail and usual blue jumper. He doesn’t know what he’d do if this was all his mind playing with him.

 

Fitz’s heartbeat drums in his ears.

 

Jemma is  _ still  _ standing there.

 

Her chest heaves as she pants, desperate to catch her breath.  She attempts to will herself calm and she presses her palms to her thighs as she leans over, eager for air.  She is panicked and scared and knows that she can not pass out in this strange new world. 

 

She feels his hand press against her back, tentative.  He’s unsure.  She thinks he’s probably as scared as she is.  Jemma nods, giving him the assurance that he needs.  He doubles his attempt and his hand presses more surely upon her, rubbing a pattern in the hopes of soothing her. 

 

It helps. 

 

Fitz always helped her when she’d needed him.   _ Helps her _ , she corrects.  

 

When she’s better able to breathe, she stands upright and meets his gaze more thoroughly than she’d had before.  It is him.  

 

_ It’s always been him.  _

 

Her hands grab for him like he’s a buoy anchored in a savage ocean and she’s lost at sea.  She clings to him and he moors her, pulling her tight against him.  Jemma breathes him in, at last taking the time to savor his scent. 

 

She’s missed him so much.  More than even she had realized. 

 

It takes a few moments for her to regain her bearings.  Her fingers knead into his collar, unwilling to let him go.  

 

But she must. 

 

“They’ll make me go back,” she whispers into his neck.  She’s not sure if she’s speaking about her universe or his, but the fear is real and very present in her core. 

 

Everything about Jemma is familiar to Fitz. 

  
Throughout the years they had shared a handful of hugs -as tactile as they were with each other in the lab, they rarely got  _ that  _ close- and Fitz had long memorized the feeling of her body, her warmth, and her scent against him.

 

She really is Jemma.

 

And she's terrified: he can feel the desperate grip of her fingers on his neck along with the scared hint in her voice.

 

“I won't let anything happen to you,” Fitz whispers softly in response, tightening the hold of his hands around her waist and shoulders and burying his face into her hair.

 

She's thinner but she still fits perfectly against his chest and into his arms. Her hair's shorter but it still has that soft texture that he's familiar with.

 

She's still Jemma.

  
Her body continues to shake with small tremors and he softly runs his fingers up and down her spine.  Her previous actions must have been impulsive and it’s obvious she's dealing with the aftershock now that the adrenaline rush is gone. Fitz's mind struggles to wrap itself around what had happened so he can't blame her for being panicked.

  
He too had been on the verge of jumping through the portal...

 

“ You scared the hell out of me, Jemma,” he says, moving back slightly so that he can see her face. “You could ha-ha-”  _ No. Not now. _ “ -have died.” He swallows dryly and tries to calm his nerves. “What was going on there? With Coulson?”

  
“ I’m not sure exactly.  I think Skye--” She shakes her head, stopping herself from going any further.  _ Is there even a Skye in this world? _

 

Jemma glances back into the opening of the medpod, her hand pressing against her chest.  She exhales slowly, willing her heart and nerves calm.  She’d thought she was prepared for this moment, that seeing him again in person would be the same as it had been before.  Afterall, he  _ looked  _ the same.   Same crystal blue eyes, same mussed sandy hair and fingers that fidget at his waist.  It’s exact to what she remembers. 

  
“I saw Skye on your side,” Fitz says slowly, stepping away from her. “She was crying...” He frowns as he recalls the hacker's face and looks at Jemma. “What was going on?”

 

She doesn't answer. She seems lost in her thoughts as she looks around the vault.   
  
He can't really blame her for being agitated. He'd be a bit out of it too if he’d suddenly found himself in another universe after crossing an inter-dimensional wormhole. 

  
It’s not the jumping through a dimensional window that shakes Jemma to the core, rather it is having Fitz alive and in front of her and having felt his body pressed against her own.  She wants to tell this Fitz everything and anything that she can think of and hear his opinion.  She wants to  _ know him  _ again.  Most of all she wants to confess the truth she guards in her heart. 

She  _ needs  _ him to know. 

 

“ Wait!”  She furrows her brows and points toward the medpod.   _ It can’t be. _  “ You have one too?”  

 

_ It’s not possible.  _

 

It takes him a moment to realise that this Jemma isn't the one that he knows ( _ and loves... loved... whatever... _ ), but is another one. She's exactly like his Jemma but she's also different.

It isn't just the physical differences: she holds herself differently, she looks more sure of herself.

  
The way she looks at him is...  _ different _ .

  
His heart beats faster in his chest when her amber eyes lock with his. Jemma had always looked at him softly but the look she has now has a shadow of emotion that he cannot define.

  
He's deluding himself: he's sure of it. He’s just projecting his hopes and desires into something that doesn’t even exist.

 

When Jemma abruptly points at the medpod, Fitz's mind goes blank. Her face is a mask of surprise and grief.

 

“What?” He looks at her in disbelief. “You- You know about-?” He swallows thickly, forcing his mind to get the words. “-the medpod?”

 

_ How was that even possible? Unless-? _

 

He recalls that his counterpart is missing in her world. Just like hers is missing here.  “It-it can't-” He shakes his head, hypotheses filling his brain and scattering everywhere. He suddenly has hundreds of questions to ask her and he's fighting with his brain and the slipping words to formulate them when he remembers something important.

 

They're both in the vault, the place where he shouldn't be seen. He had rigged the camera feed for only a limited amount of time...

 

“Damn it,” he hisses and grabs his tablet from the ground. “We have to leave,” he tells Jemma. 

 

She doesn’t question his command as the authority in his voice is familiar and she instantly -- innately-- trusts him. 

 

He opens the vault's door, tapping on the tablet to give them another few minutes' time.  He hears the door close behind him and her soft footsteps catching up with his own, but he doesn’t chance a glance until they're about to enter the main corridor.

 

Fitz holds out a hand to stop her and then brings his finger to his lips and she nods. He slowly peeks out of the door and double checks both sides of the corridor until he's sure that no one's in sight. He then motions her to follow and they quickly head to the Bus.

 

They don't stop walking until they're in his bunk. Once he locks the door, he’s finally able to let out a breath of relief.

 

He turns around and looks at Jemma who is staring at him.

 

“I think we both have questions,” he says softly. “We-we- can talk, yeah?”

 

She nods, stunned.  Everything is so similar to her world; she’s almost certain they must’ve passed the lab next to the cargo ramp of the plane when they’d hurried along in the dark.  Even Fitz’s bunk is in the exact same location.

 

And, she notes, his room is just as messy.  

 

She can’t help the smile that blooms at her lips.  It’s all so familiar.  There are books and clothes everywhere and she can’t help herself when she picks up a spiral notebook, her fingers flipping through the pages. 

 

“Is this all mine?”  She asks, recognizing the handwriting.  “I mean, hers?”

 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Fitz’s mouth opens and closes abruptly.  It’s as if he can’t find the words and she watches him curiously.  

 

“Is everything alright?” 

 

Seeing her hold the notebook and riffle through the pages is like a punch in the stomach for him. He has seen her do the same action countless times in the lab, in the Academy's study rooms and library and even in their bunks.   Fitz never thought that he'd miss that little action; he had taken it for granted as he had thousands of other things about her.

 

Her sudden question brings him back from his nostalgic memories and makes him realise, once again, that this Jemma is  _ not  _ the one that he had known for eight years.

 

His heart twists in his chest when she looks at him. The eyes and gaze are the same... Hell, even the way she tilts her head is the same.

 

And yet she isn't his Jemma.

 

His partner and best friend is gone because she saved his life. Because she felt the need to save him after he confessed his feelings to her.

 

If he hadn't...

 

Fitz is about to answer that he's fine but the words slip out of his brain and his emotions are lodged somewhere in his throat.  She jumped through a portal to escape her world; he is almost certain that the Fitz on her side is gone and she probably expected to find something resembling him here.

 

And all she gets is  _ him _ . Damaged him.

 

She deserves better. Any version of Jemma deserves something better than him. But even that certainty doesn’t stop the yearning in his heart:  _ he  _ wants her to be there. He’d do anything to have Jemma by his side again...

 

He walks over to his bed, ignoring her concerned stare and sits down, feeling heaviness in his heart.

 

“What... happened?” He asks again, looking up at her.

 

Jemma studies him curiously.  “You’re avoiding my question,” she notes matter-of-factly as she replaces the notebook upon the bed.  She steps toward him, her fingers twitching at her side; she longs to touch him and iron the worry from his face.  “Are  _ you  _ okay?”

  
Fitz sighs softly. “I've been-been struggling a bit in the last few months,” he says. “Got hurt in the field and-”  _ And that's the understatement of the century. _ “ -and I'm not good with words. Not like before.”

 

He wrings his hands together, trying to hide the fact that they have started shaking slightly.

 

She nods.  She knows there must be more to what he’s telling her, she sees the shaking of his hands, but she decides against pressing him further.  “Well then,” she says lightly.  “Let me introduce myself.”  Jemma thrusts her hand forward, laughter upon her voice.  “Jemma Simmons, dimension traveller.  Pleased to meet you.”

 

He really can't help it and snorts loudly. It is so like Jemma to try to ease the mood.

 

“Pleased to meet you, dimension traveller,” he drawls, smiling up at her. “I'm a very plain rocket scientist who happens to like Doctor Who -a traveller like yourself- and builds... electronic devices. Name is Leopold Fitz... but please, just stick with Fitz.” He shakes her hand with faux formality and he feels light hearted; he hasn’t felt like this in months.

 

Jemma laughs.  “Doctor Who is a thing here too, is it?”   _ Of course it is. _  “ Did you watch it with her?”

 

Fitz blanches at the mention and the tone of the room seems to shift unexpectedly.  

 

“Oh dear,” she declares, her cheeks reddening.  She presses her palms to her face willing the fire to subside.  

 

It’s odd, she thinks, to be standing next to Fitz again talking about Doctor Who and laughing as they’d once had… It’s surreal, really.  Her heart had been practically in her throat the entire time since she’d arrived and she can’t help the swell of hope that’s risen in her chest.  She wants everything to be  _ normal _ , like they’d once been, but when he pales at her question, the complexity of the situation dawns on her.

 

“I’m sorry I seem to have buggered everything haven’t I?” She says quickly.  “Truly, I’m just curious about her; I hope you don’t mind me asking.  You’re just so much like my--” she pauses.  “Like the Fitz I knew.  It’s startling, really.  You both look and sound the same.”  

 

She pushes a pile of clothes and notebooks off to the side and collapses next to him on the bed.  “You’re just as messy as he was too.”  She smiles teasingly hoping to ease the tension.  “You know we would play roshambo to see who’d do laundry.  He’d always choose scissors so I would purposefully throw paper.” She chuckles at the memory.  “Didn’t want him turning my knickers pink.”

 

The little tendrils of happiness in his chest had been doused by an icy shower when she’d mentioned his Jemma again; then something blooms in his heart when she starts rambling, blushing, and reaching for her face with her hands.  It's like a wave of flashbacks throughout the years -the action is familiar in every possible way- and he can't help but smile slightly.

 

“You look exactly like her,” he confesses when she sits next to him. “Same... mannerisms. And you use the same tone to scold me and say that I'm a slob without directly saying so...”  He chuckles slightly. “So that was the secret? You always knew what I'd throw? That's bloody rude: I was starting to think that you were reading my mind at some point...”  

 

He blinks when he realises that he's talking as though she's really  _ his  _ Jemma and clears his throat. The mood is easy and he doesn't want to ruin it.  “Well, that was smart,” he corrects. “I never got quite close to the washing machine. That’s an incoming disaster; like getting me to cook...”

 

Jemma laughs, the sound bubbling out of her chest and he stares at her, taking in her softened features and bright eyes. He wants to move forward and touch her, even hug her... but he can't.

 

He has too many years of restraint to let go of now.

 

“I missed you, Jemma.” 

 

It's the sharp turn of her head to him, amber eyes locking with his blue ones, that makes him realise that she heard him clearly and he has said it aloud. 

 

Her heart thumps loudly against her chest, she understands innately what he means. “I feel the same,” she whispers.  She can’t bring herself to admit the full truth, the feeling is too raw.  

 

He feels the shift in her, sees the way her eyes have glossed over  for a moment. This might be the opportunity to talk about...

 

“You said that you had a-a medpod too,” he says slowly. “Did- Were you two trapped in there? Did Ward...?”

 

Fitz purposefully doesn't finish the sentence, leaving it open so that she can continue.

 

She purses her lips and nods her head.  “We wer-- I was,” she corrects.  

 

He notices her word slip but doesn't press on it: it could have been just a mistake. He's the last person to point out the use of wrong words and he doesn't have any proof of what he thinks has happened to his counterpart.

 

“If Ward hadn’t been killed when they took down Garrett I’d seriously consider doing it myself.”  Jemma lowers her eyes, her face paling in the shadows of the bunk.  “He ruined a lot of lives that day.”

 

He blinks at her harsh tone, not used to hearing that sort of restrained anger coming from Jemma, but he realises that the entire Hydra reveal, the sense of betrayal and the subsequent pain could change a person.  He himself cannot think of Ward without feeling seething anger...

 

“ Oh...So he's dead there?” He smirks mirthlessly. “Garrett's gone here but Ward... He's somewhere in the base. Coulson has him locked up and uses him for intel.” It was meant to be a secret, but he got it out of Skye one day after seeing her particularly shaken. “Director Coulson sends Skye as an interrogator every now and then...” He'd been so mad when he found out. It wasn't just because Ward (his former friend,  _ Jemma's killer _ ) was there, but because  _ Skye  _ was sent to talk to him.

 

Fitz had actually been on the verge of getting off the Bus and storming into Coulson's office but Skye had stopped him, saying that it was the only way to stop Hydra. Her resolute stance had stopped him despite all the hatred and loathing in his chest.

 

He’d never had a chance to speak to Coulson and the resentment had never left.

 

“I wonder if the Coulson on my side would’ve done the same?” Jemma wonders aloud.  “It’s strange to think that there’s little differences like Ward’s death, but still so much is the same.  The same people and everything.  It’s remarkable really.  An actual parallel universe.”  She thinks Fitz must be buzzing with the very thought and potential of it all. To think that there could possibly be an infinite number of universes where Fitzes and Jemmas all exist, living lives that could be markedly similar or strangely different.  She might not even have her doctorates in one version.

 

The very thought sends a giggle to her throat.   _ Indeed!  _  “ Well, enough of all that nonsense,” she says with a smile.  “I’m rather famished and if you’re anything like the Fitz I knew, you probably are as well.  And,” she adds with a mischievous twitch of her lips as she jabs him in the side with her elbow. “I suspect that you have some import beer in that little fridge over there.  I know my Fitz always did.” 

 

He tries to ignore the little twist in his chest when she says  _ my Fitz _ ...

 

“Yeah, I still have a couple of bottles in there.” He nods eagerly, pointing at the ice box under his desk. It was an old habit to have a cooler in their rooms; in this way, they would always have fresh drinks when they spent time together.

 

“What about food? Or do you just starve out here?”

 

Her little giggle makes his lips quirk upwards, shedding some light on his darker thoughts. Trust Jemma -any version of her- to know exactly when to draw him out of his moods.

 

They might be from different universes but it’s still them. It’s still FitzSimmons.

 

“ Ah, right… food,” Fitz scratches the back of his head. He’s been living on the takeouts that Skye or May bring to him and he doesn’t even know  _ if  _ there’s something edible in the Bus’ kitchenette. Eating has lost meaning to him in these past months: it was only a physical need. 

 

Suddenly, his stomach grumbles loudly, making him start and stare at it as though realising that it’s been there the whole time.

 

Jemma laughs again and he blushes, hand still at the back of his head. He stands and goes to get two bottles from the small refrigerator and hopes that Jemma doesn’t notice the brand: it’s  _ his  _ Jemma’s favourite.

 

“Here…” He says, smiling softly, handing her a beer. “I’ll go and see what’s there to eat.”

 

The bottle is cold against her palm and the light frost upon the bottle’s glass is already beginning to melt from exposure to the room’s warmth.  She smiles when she notices the label and tries to ignore the strange feeling that overcomes her: it’s her favourite.  “Let me come with you,” she offers quickly, rising to her feet.  “I’m curious as to what your Bus looks like.”

 

“Hang on…” Fitz puts out his hand, stopping her from reaching the door. “Let me check first.”

 

He opens the door slowly and peaks out; thankfully it’s late and none of his teammates have had the sense to come and see what he’s doing.  He has the feeling that Skye told everyone that he wanted to be alone.

 

“Okay… let’s go,” he says, turning to look at Jemma and waving her to follow him. Together they exit the bunks and he leads her  down the dimly lit corridor, slowing so that they’re walking side by side. It’s an old habit and he finds himself falling in step with her, shoulders perfectly lined.  In sync. And close.

 

He doesn’t want her out of his sight; he’s still scared that she might vanish in the same way that she appeared.

 

He’s not sure that he can bear the thought ….

 

As she walks at his side she can’t help but notice how different their version of the Bus is.  While both are almost entirely abandoned, hers had seemed more lived in; she’d made the Bus her home and her lab, refusing to allow Coulson to remove its tech and equipment.  In Fitz’s world it seems as though it has been allowed to become derelict.  Sheets cover much of the furniture, and what isn’t covered has a thick coating of dust upon it.  

 

“I’m surprised your allergies haven’t got the best of you,” she remarks, letting her finger drag along the edge of the bar. She snaps her fingers lightly, brushing off the coating of dust stuck at the tips.  “Does no one use the plane any more?”

 

He flushes slightly when she checks the dust on the bar top.  “Everyone moved into the rooms at the Playground,” he explains, flipping the kitchenette light on. He’s grateful that he kept it clean; some of his old prickliness for order and pristine spaces showing in the kitchenette.   “It’s just me in here. I-I like it better be-because…” _ Because you’re still here for me.  _ “ Less noise, less people... Less…”  _ Stares _ . “Less problems.”

 

Jemma nods.  “The same goes for me.  Truthfully, sometimes I think that if I agree to move in with the rest of them it’d be like ending a chapter….  A chapter I’m not exactly ready to let go of.”

 

Fitz stares at her for a moment, her words echoing in the silence. He has many questions, thousands of things to ask her, but he decides to keep them to himself for now. He starts looking through the cupboards and then opens the fridge, busying himself.  Hopefully, they will have time to talk. They have the time now.

 

“So...I’ll see what I can find in here but-” He turns to her with a small smile. “I hope you’re willing to do the actual cooking.”

 

Jemma recalls his earlier admittance to being a terrible chef and narrows her eyes in mock annoyance.  “I’ll cook under two conditions--”

 

“The first one is that I have to clean up everything,” he offers, leaning on the fridge’s open door and quirking his lips. It’s their usual routine. “The second-?”

 

She chuckles.  “To be honest that condition hadn’t occurred to me, but it does now.”  She begins to grab at the cabinet doors in search of the ingredients she needs.  Fitz can only watch, stunned as she moves about the space with ease, it’s as if she knows exactly where to find everything.

 

“Please tell me you have eggs?”  Jemma asks from behind an opened cabinet door.  “And fresh milk and butter?”

 

“Maybe?” He replies, looking inside the fridge. “Yeah... got them.” He announces, actually surprised by the discovery; perhaps one of his teammates left him some fresh ingredients hoping that he’d cook sometime.

 

“Need anything else?” Fitz asks watching her bustle around. “Even though I think you know where everything is better than I do…” It brings a smile to his face.  Then he blinks. “Hey, the conditions! You… You need to tell me... the other conditions.”

 

“Well,” she begins, ignoring the stutter in his words and pulling a flat skillet out from under the stove.  “The first-- or rather second-- condition is that dinner has to be pancakes because unlike your Jemma, I’m a pretty terrible cook. It’s why I mostly stick to making sandwiches.” 

 

Fitz’s stomach, suddenly quite talkative, grumbles loudly as she mentions her sandwiches. He hasn’t had a good one in months.

 

She places the skillet on to the stove top and turns the dial slightly to the right. “I’m fairly positive you won’t object to pancakes though.  They always make things seem better, don’t they?”

 

“Yeah… they always make… make things better.” He smiles and walks to the stove. “Tea? I think it might wash down the pancakes ... better than the beers.”

 

“I can never say no to tea,” she says, passing him the beers when he motions for them.

 

“I’ll put them in the fridge.  Save them for later.”

 

Fitz opens the fridge again, putting the two bottles inside. He then leans against the counter, a little far away from Jemma so that he won’t be in her way, and watches as she gathers all the ingredients and starts to prepare their impromptu dinner.

 

Jemma uses her familiarity rather than the precision of measurement when mixing the ingredients into a large bowl. 

 

He arches his brow slightly when he notices that Jemma isn’t particularly careful while preparing the mix: he’s used to her measuring everything, from flour to butter slices. Seeing her all but carelessly throw the ingredients inside the bowl, yet knowing what she’s doing is quite amazing.

 

“My third condition is that you tell me everything.  I’m curious to see the similarities.” She uses one hand to hold the bowl in place and the other to deftly blend with a large whisk. “Can you check the skillet?  I’m almost done here.” 

 

He fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. He then quickly dips his fingertips under the tap and flicks at the skillet: the droplets disappear with a hiss. “It's ready.”

 

She reaches for the ladle and moves next to Fitz, pouring out several equal sized dollops of mix onto the skillet, allowing it to spread quickly into flattened, uneven circles.  “So, are you going to tell me everything?” She asks, as she carefully places the dripping ladle into the sink.  “I want to know it all!”

 

“ _ All  _ is a broad word,” he says, leaning against the counter. “I don't know about- about your Fitz... but I'm not good at... at talking freely. Ask me: I'll answer.”

 

Jemma’s head cocks slightly to the side as she eyes him curiously.  He’s a bit like her Fitz was when she’d first met him in chemistry class when she was barely a teen: he’s odd and almost unsure of himself.  She’d misjudged him back then;  it wasn’t until after their shared run in with the headmaster that she’d learned they’d had more in common than she’d ever imagined.  She’s certain the same is true of the man that stands next to her watching the steam rise from the spout of the kettle.  He’s certainly just as shy and tentative around her and she suspects that there’s more to what he is telling her and she’s eager to discover why that is.

 

“I’m just curious ‘is all,” she explains.  “You must’ve been recruited as a child prodigy, just as I was. Did Fury find you too?”  

 

He's reaching for the tea leaves in the cupboard when her last sentence registers in his head and he almost drops the tin.

 

“ F-Fury?” He splutters with wide eyes. “ _ Fury  _ recruited you?” Jemma nods, looking surprised and he laughs in disbelief. “Damn... You must be  _ really  _ good then... If Fury came and- _ Bloody hell _ ...” He shakes his head. “No, I-I was recruited by Agent Trent Morris, head of the Sci-Ops Boston facility.”

 

Jemma’s eyes widen.  “Agent Morris?!”  She declares excitedly.  “I’d always wanted to meet him.  Last I’d heard he was killed defending Sci-Ops from the Hydra invasion.”  She shrugs her shoulders and her eyebrows bob slightly.  “But who really knows.  So many people are presumed dead, but they could be anywhere really.  Just lying low or undercover until S.H.I.E.L.D stabilizes itself.”

 

She flips the pancakes and grimaces when she notices that the side that now faces upward is a little too browned.  She glances back toward Fitz, hopeful that he won’t notice, nor mind. 

 

“Same here: Morris is presumed dead,” Fitz says oblivious to Jemma’s pancake blunder.  He spoons some tea leaves into the kettle and turns it off. Her enthusiasm makes him smile despite the wave of sorrow he feels for the unknown fate of the man that thought that he, scrawny and weak Fitz, could make a difference within S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

“When Fury found us in Year 10 we weren’t particularly good at anything, except maybe getting in trouble,” she clarifies with a grin.  “Certainly I didn’t think I was worthy enough of Fury’s visit, but there he was: talking to my headmaster, trying to convince him not to expel Fitz and I.  It was a bit surreal, to be honest.”

 

He stops halfway as he reaches for the mugs as she talks.

 

“ Wait, we-no... You and your Fitz went to school together? Before the Academy?” And then he openly gapes at her. “ _ Expel?  _ What the bloody hell were....  _ what did we do? _ ”

 

Jemma can’t help but smile at his use of the collective pronoun.  “We were very bad,” she says with a chuckle as she pulls the skillet from the heat.  With a flick of the spatula, she carefully plates the pancakes, ensuring that Fitz’s dish has an extra helping.   “But we both felt that we didn’t fit in at the school, so we did our best to force their hands.  In a strange way it brought us together; I’d always thought he hated me and all along he’d just been screwing up the courage to talk to me.  After that encounter we were inseparable.  Well…” she pauses.  “Until we--” 

 

“-weren't,” Fitz completes softly taking the kettle off the stove. Jemma remains silent and moves both their plates to the table.

 

As much as he's astonished to hear that they’d been bad, he's not at all surprised to hear that his counterpart was almost exactly like him.

 

“When we were you recruited then?” She asks. 

 

“I was recruited at seventeen, after my degree from MIT,” he replies, getting a spoon from a drawer and sets to pick up the kettle. He’s suddenly hit by the familiarity of the action, of preparing tea for both of them.

 

He thought he had lost all of this...

 

Fitz smiles, feeling something disentangle inside his chest. Some of his previous thoughts and fears fade slightly.

 

“ Jemma and I met at the Academy, months into the first semester,” he says, pouring tea into their mugs. He's so used to fixing his (and her) tea that he doesn't even need to concentrate while he speaks, lost down memory lane. “We were the youngest -and brightest actually- and I-I... I knew that we could be friends but you... You were smart and popular. I never knew how to talk to you. We got- We were partners in a class... and after that.... we didn't leave each other's side.”  _ Until a few months ago... _

 

He approaches the table and gives her a mug. “Chai with a drop of milk and one sugar,” he recites, daring a glance at her. “That- Is it right?”

 

Jemma nods as she takes a seat.  “Extra syrup on yours?” The container is at the ready, hovering above his plate. 

 

“Yes, please,” he replies, sitting in the chair across from her and taking advantage of her momentary distraction to look at her carefully. He smiles softly when he sees the little wrinkle of concentration between her brows as she does something as mundane as pouring syrup.

 

The Jemma Simmons he knows is usually careless when flustered or particularly nervous about something but she’s the most attentive of people in other circumstances. This Jemma seems to behave in the same way but in opposite situations. It’s a curious thing to observe and he wonders for a moment of the other things that could be different: could she be as selfless as his Jemma had been?

 

He takes a sip of tea to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat and then picks up his fork and knife to cut a piece of pancake.

 

He doesn't realise how hungry he really is and how much he missed cooked meals ( _ hers in particular _ ) until he's halfway through his plate. He reaches for his tea again and steals a glance at Jemma.  She's staring at him with a soft, amused look, her plate still quite full. It causes a hot blush to attack his face.

 

“I-er...I was hungry?” He defends himself. “And... this is delicious.”

 

A mischievous grin blooms across her face.  “I’d burned them,” she admits unapologetically, her smile growing tenfold as she begins to giggle uncontrollably.  “They taste terrible! You didn’t even notice,” she says, her body beginning to shake, her laughter growing with every passing second.  She’s practically doubled over in hysterics, her breath coming in gasps as she declares, “They are truly the worst!”

 

The sound of her voice, so happy and carefree, makes soft laughter bubble out of him and he's almost surprised by the sound of it; it’s been months since he felt content enough to laugh freely.

 

He takes in her smile and face and something flutters in his chest. Grinning, he indulges himself with a bit of playfulness.

 

“ Well, then…” He says.  “If  _ you  _ don't want them...” He reaches across the table and stabs one of her overly darkened pancakes with his fork, relocating it onto his own plate.  She makes no effort to bat away his hand and can only watch with an amused grin as he greedily cuts into his spoils.  When he takes a bite of her pancake he pauses, mid-chew, and notices that something seems to be missing. He takes the syrup and pours a generous amount over what remains on his plate. “You should eat them with more syrup,” he advises. “It tastes better that way.”

 

She shoots him a look that makes the grin on his face widen.

 

“Oh... Still jealous of my metabolism?” He teases. “A bit of extra sugar won't hurt you...”

 

Jemma hides her smile behind her fist, her eyes twinkling with residual laughter.  “Do you remember Guy Fawkes Day, when the school put on the bonfires and you overdosed on the claggum that your mum had sent?”  She asks, not awaiting his reply.  “You fell asleep from the sugar rush and when the headmaster set off the fireworks you thought someone had been shot.”  She rolls her eyes and chuckles.  “It took me nearly ten minutes to convince you that you weren’t having a heart attack.”  She winks teasingly.  “So I think I will pass on the extra sugar, thank you very much.”  

 

He has no clue what she's talking about. It's something that she did with the other Fitz,  _ her Fitz _ . He doesn't want to spoil the mood; he doesn't want the bubble to explode and make them both realise that while they are Fitz and Simmons, they  _ are not  _ each other's Fitz and Simmons.   She's smiling and her eyes are shining with mirth and good memories, so he decides to keep the smile on his face and nods instead, taking another bite of pancake. It suddenly tastes bitter despite the syrup.

 

Something coils in his stomach and he berates himself for being jealous of -what?  __ Himself?  
  


He should be glad that he has Jemma.

 

He takes another sip of tea and looks at her.  “I... Anymore questions?” He asks with a small smile. “I recall you wanting to know... all about me.” He puts his fork down and leans on the table with his elbow, setting his chin in his palm.  “Otherwise, I'll start asking.”

 

Jemma startles, her face reddening.  She’d caught herself lost talking to him, believing him momentarily to be the Fitz of her memories.  She’d even felt the familiar swell in her heart again.  

 

“ Maybe it’s best if you ask,” she mutters, stuffing a forkful of pancake into her mouth and drowning it with the last of her tea.   _ My questions would only muck things up _ .  

 

She’s still desperate to know more about the man that sits across from her, yet she has no way to show him that he can confide in her; she is no one to him but a stranger from a distant universe. 

 

A stranger that looks strikingly like someone he once knew. 

 

Her brows furrow at her own thoughts and she can’t help but look at him curiously.   _ What happened to this universe’s Jemma? _

 

_ She can’t have also… _

 

“How long have you been on Coulson's Team?” Fitz asks, unknowingly interrupting Jemma’s train of thought.  She looks at him curiously, so he explains himself. “Did you join after Sci-Ops? Have you even- Did you go to Sci-Ops after graduating early?”

 

Jemma soaks up the last of the syrup on her plate with her final square of pancake and nods, pushing her errant thoughts to the side.  “Entered the Academy when I was barely seventeen, graduated early a year later and was hired at Sci-Ops in London.”  She stands and motions for Fitz to pass his plate.  He complies and she stacks the two, placing them next to the sink. 

 

“About eight laters later, a few months after the Battle of Los Angeles and Coulson’s resuscitation, I received an invitation to interview for an elite team.  Fitz did as well and shortly thereafter Dr. Streiten was scheduling our field assessments.  I suspect they’d wanted us all along, it’s probably why Fury showed up at our school way back when.  We were the best and he knew even before we did.”  She shrugs.  “We packed up everything, flew to America and moved onto the Bus in less than two weeks after getting our clearance.”

 

“Your Battle of Los Angeles-- that was the Chitauri invasion, yes?”

 

She makes a sound, agreeing. 

 

“Hmm,” he nods, taking their empty mugs and standing up when she returns to her seat. “Pretty much the same for me minus the part in London: we were stationed in Boston.”

 

There is a comfortable silence between them as he quickly washes their plates and mugs. He can’t help but wonder about their different worlds: she saw the battle of Los Angeles while he the one in New York. It brings back memories of watching the events unfold on TV with Jemma in their apartment and then hurrying to their facility, fearing for the worst until they eventually cheered for the Avengers' victory.

 

He sits down again after retrieving the beers from the fridge and offers her one. He blurts his next question without thinking.  “Did you live together? During Sci-Ops?”

 

She raises her eyebrows as she takes the beer from him.  “We did,”  she admits tentatively. While they’d shared an apartment, her and Fitz had also, for a short time, shared a bed.  

 

Jemma can’t help but worry about the direction he’s taking their conversation.  She’s not entirely sure she’s ready to confront the reality of what transpired only three short months ago.  “You?”  She asks, trying valiantly to measure the emotion in her voice. 

 

“Yeah.” He smiles to himself. “We found an apartment near our facility; we could walk there in less than ten minutes.” He remembers Jemma's face when she’d first seen the house and her enthusiasm when they moved in and had to shop for furniture, ultimately making it their home.

 

Because it was that:  _ their  _ home.

 

It still is.

 

“You loved it,” he whispers absently. “We're still paying the rent because you didn't want to give it away. You said that we’d go back when we’re not working...”

 

“Did you?” Jemma asks, taking a sip from her beer.  “Go back that is? Is that where she is now?” She’s pressing and she knows it.  She can’t help herself, she’s desperately curious to understand how far the similarities between them extend.

 

Fitz, however, feels as though someone has punched him in the stomach.   
  
He looks at Jemma and her amber eyes are clear and honest. It’s obvious she just wants to know what happened; she can’t possibly realize that she's reopening old wounds that have never healed.

 

Swallowing back a lump of emotions, he toys with his bottle of beer, scratching the paper label with his fingertips.

 

_ She deserves to know, doesn't she? _ He doesn’t know why she’s really here, but he cannot lie to her.

 

He has to be honest.

 

“ No, we never went back,” he explains softly, looking at the green bottle and failing to meet her eyes. He cannot look at Jemma while talking about...  _ his Jemma _ . “She's gone: happened three months ago.”  _ It’s all his fault _ . “And she...” He swallows dryly, blinking back tears. “She died saving me.”

 

Her mouth falls open, the weight of his reveal hitting her directly in the chest.  Her heart twists at the terrible familiarity.   _ It can’t be _ . 

 

“The medpod…” She says at last.  “That’s why you were there, isn’t it?  You were looking for the resonance, same as I was.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, we'll change our posting dates: the last two chapters will be up on Wednesday and Saturday.  
> We hope to read more of your comments and thoughts: we really love reading them.

* * *

 

“How do you-?” Fitz looks up abruptly when she mentions the medpod and his theory about resonance. His eyes widen when he sees the pain in her eyes. It's achingly familiar: he's had that look for the past few months.

 

His previous thoughts come back to his mind.  _ Could it be-? _

 

“Er- yeah…” He clears his throat. “Wh-what happened to your Fitz?”

 

His question hangs in the air, unanswered.  Jemma wants to reply but it’s as though it chokes her, awakening a nightmare she’d attempted to bury.  

 

The doctors had warned her that in time, the memories would surface again, that there’d be triggers she couldn’t predict and that they might be visceral and painful.  They’d offered her prescriptions that could dull the pain, but she’d refused them; she’d felt she deserved whatever came her way.  

 

A part of her had hoped she'd be the exception to the rule.  

 

She and Fitz had always been the exception to every rule.

 

When the images appear, so do the sensations.  She can taste the salt against her lips and she can even hear his breath fleeting with every given instruction.  

 

“ _One breath?” She repeats, stunned. “But there’s two of us.”_

 

_ Time is running out, that much is clear.  She already feels her lungs beginning to struggle; she’s practically breathless, each inhale shallower than the one previous.  _

 

“ _I know,” Fitz says handing her the manual resuscitator, forcing it into her hands.  “I’ve done the math.  That’s why you’re taking it, you’re the better swimmer.”_

 

“ _I am not,” she insists, defiant.  They are both so stubborn, even at the worst times imaginable.  “You’re the one that--”_

 

“ _\--I couldn’t live if you didn’t,” he interrupts, the words spilling from his lips.  Her gaze snaps to meet his.  There are tears heavy in the corners of his eyes and he breathes just as weakly as she does. “You need to take it, Jemma. Please.”_

 

“ _ Why?”  She demands; she doesn’t understand.  "I feel the same.  You're my very best friend.  You’re my  _ family _ ."   _ Why must he be so impossible?! 

 

“ _Because it’s always been you.” The words shudder from his lips and she can tell that he instantly regrets his outburst._

 

“ _ Wha-what?”  Jemma shakes her head.   _ No, not now.

 

_ He can’t meet her eyes, she thinks he’s embarrassed. “I’ve loved you from the day I caught you red handed holding the beaker of  _ _ nitrogen triiodide.” _

 

“ _But-- But…” she stutters, disbelieving.  “The ice… the note...you'd agreed...you said--”_

 

_ He shrugs sheepishly.  “I know what I said, but I lied.  I did it because I thought that’s what you wanted.  I’ve been lying to you for twelve years, Jemma.” _

 

_ Her arms reach for him, pulling him tight against her. Her sobs choke her and her tears streak against her cheeks.  “No…”  She grips at his collar, shaking her head against his shoulder.  “No…” _

 

_ The words stick in her throat, she can feel them bursting at the surface but she’s panicked into silence.  They have only seconds, she can feel it in her chest.  Her heart orders her to say what she feels, to ensure that he knows before… _

 

_ The world around her turns black.   _

 

_ Something (or someone?) forces the mask against her mouth and with her free hand she reaches for Fitz.  She knows he must be near but she can’t see him for all the blackness.  She pumps the  _ _ resuscitator, forcing oxygen into her lungs; they burn and the air salves.  With renewed strength she flails into the darkness a second time, reaching, hoping, desperate to find him.   _

 

_ Her fingers grip what she believes is the fold of his collar and she takes hold tightly like she’d done seconds earlier.  With every ounce of strength she pulls herself forward and upward, toward the surface.   _

 

_ She will not let him die.  _

 

_ She refuses to allow him to sacrifice himself.  Not without knowing… _

 

Fitz knows that something is wrong when she doesn't reply immediately but he waits, giving her time. 

 

Jemma stares at the beer in front of her, without really seeing it; he sees how her eyes are unfocused, the clear amber suddenly clouded and lost.

 

Whether she's lost in her thoughts or in some memory, he cannot say, but it must be painful and still very raw for her.  He can relate to that sort of feeling.

 

“Hey,” he whispers after a few moments, her forced silence making him uneasy. “You don't have to-” The words die in his mouth when he sees the first tears trickle down her cheeks. 

He's standing up when the trickles become twin rivulets and he is by her side when she starts trembling, silent sobs wracking her body.

 

She's restraining herself from making any noise, her teeth bite into her lower lip and her hands curl tightly into fists. But the tears still flow down her face, her features contorted in grief.

Fitz sinks to his knees next to her, heart twisting painfully in his chest. He has always hated seeing Jemma in any sort of pain but seeing her cry? It just hurts him.  He slowly moves his hands up to her face, brushing away a stream of tears, forcing her to turn and look at him.

 

Her eyes are a sheen of liquid honey, full of pain and despair.  Seeing her like this shatters something inside him.

 

“Jemma?” He whispers and she sobs again, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her face and on his hands.

 

“F-Fi-tz...” She stutters, awakening from her trance.  She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck.

 

He feels her tears and breath against his skin and hears her muffled sobs. It brings back memories of his last goodbye to Jemma and his hands move on their own accord, tightening around her, fingers drawing soothing circles on her back.

 

“It's...Everything will be fine,” he whispers in her hair. “It's okay...”

 

She pulls back suddenly and takes him in more fully and shakes her head.  She’s a mess both mentally and physically.  She doesn’t belong here, she doesn’t deserve his kindness.

 

“I need to go back,”  she chokes out, her hand wiping at her tears as she looks down at him.  “I need to go home.  Please, take me back to the medpod.” 

  
Fitz moves away and stands up immediately, swallowing dryly. He tries to ignore the way her words affect him but it's useless: his chest clenches hard, forcing him to take a shuddering breath.

 

He messed up. They were doing well: they were talking, even laughing and he messed up.  He must have overstepped some invisible boundary or asked too many questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.  She'd rather leave and go back to her world than stay there. With him.

 

And here he’d hoped that-

 

Fitz clenches his trembling fingers.

 

_ What? That she'd stay? That she'd forget her world, her life and stick around with him? _

 

The other Fitz might be dead -he’s quite sure about it now- but he is  _ not  _ him. And as much as he yearns for it, this Jemma is  _ not  _ his.

 

She wants to go home and he has to help her; he will always help her.

 

Jemma has been his home for as long as he can remember; he lost everything when she died. And now that she's here again (alive) asking him to leave, he knows that he cannot force her to stay.

 

_ He has to help her... _

 

“I should probably explain,” she offers weakly.  “I just… I just can’t.”  She shakes her head.  She’s scared.  She wonders absently if this is what Fitz felt like back in the medpod, back when she’d let him die without-- 

 

“Y-yeah… I-I understand,” Fitz takes a few steps back, fighting against the emotions that are suddenly choking him. “I’ll go get- Need it to go down.” His mind is reeling but he has one clear thought. She doesn’t need him, otherwise she wouldn’t want to leave.

 

“I-I- Wait... a moment,” he motions her to stay there as he walks out of the kitchenette to his room and grabs his tablet. Fitz doesn't really realise what he's doing: his body moves on its own accord and his mind is just... blank.

 

“Fitz?”  He turns and sees Jemma, staring at him with soft eyes. It’s his mind-Jemma with her long hair and blue jumper.

 

“Everything will be alright,” she says softly, approaching him. “Ask her to stay. Tell her you want her to stay.”

 

He shakes his head and turns away from her. The last thing he needs now is his own mind trying to trick him.

 

He returns to the kitchenette and gestures for the real Jemma to follow him and he feels hollowed out when he enters the security feed and modifies the video streaming as he walks.

 

Fitz is about to turn the corner that leads to the common room when he sees a shadow lurking in a doorway. It’s Skye, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

There's something in her gaze that makes him blink: she looks shocked rather than cautious as she usually is around him.  It suddenly occurs to him that he's not alone and that Jemma is walking, head down, just steps behind him.

 

He doesn't stop walking but keeps his gaze on Skye as she continues to stare. He sees her open her mouth, ready to take a step forward, probably wanting to get closer and talk to him -or to Jemma because it's been a painful few months for the hacker as well- but Fitz shakes his head.

 

_ Not now _ , he pleads in his head and hopes that the message is conveyed in his expression. This isn’t the right moment; not with Jemma wanting to leave and him with his shattered emotions.  He knows that he's asking a lot from Skye but she has to leave them alone for now.

 

The hacker just stares and slowly nods; she has always been empathic and Fitz is glad of her tact. Jemma doesn’t notice the silent exchange and Fitz simply nods in gratitude before walking away.  He has no words; he’s certain that he wouldn’t be able to string a short sentence together without either breaking down or failing entirely.

  
He's broken and damaged; Jemma has every right to want to leave him.

 

What Fitz doesn’t realize is that Jemma  _ had  _ wanted to stay.  A part of her had hoped that her journey to Fitz’s world could be a one-way ticket, a way to perhaps make up for her mistakes.  In effect, she’d hoped that this universe’s Fitz would be able ease the burden upon her conscience. She’d wanted a do-over. 

 

But she’s come to realize that it’s not right; she’s using him in a sorry attempt to heal her own broken heart.  It wouldn’t be fair for her to do this to Fitz.  He’d been nothing but kind to her from the start.  There is such love and tenderness in his words, looks, and gestures; but he’ll never replace her Fitz and certainly she could never replace his Jemma.  

 

Her Fitz had been her heart-- her world--and if he feels even a fraction of what she does, she can not even begin to justify her place here... 

 

When Fitz opens the heavy door to the vault, they both blink, allowing their eyes to adjust to the little light.  Everything's there as they’d left it earlier: the generator, the sensors and the medpod.  Fitz feels a soft touch on his shoulder and he turns to find mind-Jemma’s hand softly laying there. She’s smiling kindly but it doesn’t give him any solace.

 

“Tell her,” she says again.

 

He shrugs the imaginary hand off without saying anything and grits his teeth, choosing instead to check the generator rather than acknowledge the image and voice that his mind has produced.

 

When he looks up again, he notices a few boxes in the far corner behind the rusty container and his already hurt heart twists again.

 

Jemma's things. All that he’ll ever have of her: scattered objects, lost memories, regrets…

 

The tension between them is thick; Jemma knows that he’s upset, she can read it on his face and in his movements.  His shoulders are rolled forward and he mutters under his breath, talking to… himself, she supposes.  For the second time since she’d arrived she wonders if he also guards a damaging secret. 

 

Her fingers run along the old generator which is patched in areas that have long rusted away.  The machine is no different than her own on the other side of the wormhole and when she looks down at him, tinkering away at the compressor her heart tugs.  His hands are shaking and he mutters curses at them, daring them to defy his will.  She wants to steady his hands, wants to press her own upon his and guide him, wants to work with him like she’d done for so many years before.

 

But she can’t. 

 

He is not hers. 

 

Her Fitz has long left her. 

 

“ The Asimovian is out of Ruang solution,” she notes, her voice cracking slightly as she breaks their silence.  She moderates her voice, wanting to sound cold and detached-- but in reality, she is  _ desperate.  _ Everything has become  _ too much _ .  “Did you have any in reserve?”

 

Fitz doesn't look up until he hears the word 'Ruang'; it's the only thing that allows him to understand that it's  _ really  _ Jemma speaking and not his imaginary partner. That and her cold, empty tone.

 

He stares at her as she stands rod-straight in front of him with a cautious look on her face and he feels his chest twist painfully.

 

“Er... no, I- I...” He swallows and stands up; he used his last vial of solution before and doesn't have any left. It had taken quite a bit of ability to get past Melinda May's attention and make two vials rather than just the one.

 

He realises that the only option they have is to go downstairs and make another vial of solution in the lab. The thought of walking into the lab ( _ their lab _ ) with her makes his stomach clench: he cannot do that.

 

He works there even though it's no longer a lab but a makeshift garage, yet he cannot go in there with Jemma. It would just...  _ hurt _ .

 

“Look in there.” He turns to his left side and sees his mind-Jemma, pointing at the boxes behind the medpod. He looks at her oddly, eyebrows arching. She rolls her eyes at him.

 

“Come on, Fitz,” she chides him. “I always kept samples of my experiments to study when I had free time. That solution was one of my older projects: I'll surely have a vial of it.”

 

His eyes widen at the truth behind her words. Those boxes contained all of Jemma's things from her bunk, but also all the material from her side of the lab.

 

“You're right,” he mumbles. There is a chance that she might have made a vial of solution for future testing.

 

“What’s that?” Jemma dares to ask, raising her eyebrows curiously.  “Did you say something?”  

 

Fitz turns and nods, pointing towards the boxes. Perhaps, between the two of them, she's the one that can easily find the solution among all the samples.

 

“Maybe try over there,” he suggests, crouching back down to finish preparing the generator.

 

She nods and moves toward the boxes in the corner.  The pile is small and organized neatly, most of which are banker boxes.  Jemma wonders absently if they contain files or more research notes to help set the Asimovian in motion. She reaches for the first box and lifts its lid.  Inside, rather than files or notes, she finds women’s clothing folded and stacked neatly.  Confused, she lifts a shirt from the top of the pile and holds it up to get a closer look.  It’s a lovely black and white polka dotted blouse, one that likely belonged to someone her own age and size.  

 

“ Fitz?” She calls out, turning with the shirt in hand.  “Who’s stuff is this?” She’s not entirely certain why she’s asking, she  _ knows  _ who the shirt must belong to.

 

He looks up and sees Jemma holding a familiar blouse. It’s one that he's seen on multiple occasions along with a thin maroon jumper and a black tie: it brings back memories (“ _ I have to look professional, Fitz!” _ ).

 

The honest answer that almost comes out of his mouth is ' _ Yours _ ' but he swallows back the words.  She doesn't even recognise the clothes and objects.  _ Who is he even kidding?  _

 

She’s not…  _ her _ .

 

“ Je- My Jemma's,” he says, looking back at the generator. His hands are shaking again and he realises that he hasn't taken his medication yet.  _ Damn it... _

 

“ Look in the boxes: there should... with her work supplies.” He clears his suddenly dry throat. “Solution for the gen- generator.”  _ And you can go.. and leave... _

 

Jemma had never been very good at reading people but there is something… definitive in Fitz’s look and voice.  Before the incident in the medpod she would have insisted that she knew Fitz better than anyone else, but in the months since she’s come to realize just how blind she really was and is.  

 

Something within her pushes her to question him further, to ask why the softness in his voice is so achingly familiar… Why he seems so  _ lost _ .  Afraid, even.  Instead, she chooses to ignore the press upon her heart and lets the blouse fall back into its box as she decidedly moves on to the next carton.

 

The boxes as a whole are filled with mostly personal effects: a few textbooks, some more pieces of clothing and several DVDs.  It tells her a little about the ghost of a woman that is so like her, yet must be so very different at the same time.

 

It’s in the last box near the back of the room that she finds what she’s looking for.  Within a small metallic carrier she discovers several vials marked with amser energy levels.  She recognizes the familiar chemical notations scrawled along its length and closes the lid to the carrier, lifting it carefully from the box.  She’s about to replace the cardboard lid when something catches her eye. 

 

Tucked between two empty beaker trays is a mason jar filled with water.   _ Melted ice?   _

 

Her heart skips in her chest, thumping quick and anxious, urging her forward. Her fingers shake as she reaches for it, recognizing the yellow paper that floats at its center. 

  
But it’s not  _ her  _ jar.

  
Hers has a short note, hastily written by two extraordinarily foolish people, floating at its center.  Hers is lost in her world, likely sitting in a landfill after being tossed out by an annoyed landlady who hadn’t been paid her rent.

 

No. This mason jar is different. 

 

This jar’s note reads only one word:  _ Fitz _ . 

 

“Fitz?” She calls out, her voice cracking slightly as she rises to her feet and turns toward him.  He looks up expectantly.  “Did...Did you and yo-your Jemma date?” 

 

He blinks at her, processing the words but not really understanding them immediately.   _ What-? Where did that even come from? Has he said or done something to-? _

 

Fitz opens his mouth to speak but the words are suddenly all lost to him again as she looks at him with those hauntingly familiar eyes and the medpod at her back.

 

He shakes his head, heart thumping in his chest as he stands. He hears ringing in his ears and the sudden rush makes him dizzy as the vault becomes suddenly darker.

 

“Fitz?” He cannot be sure which Jemma is talking: the real one or the imaginary?

 

“Calm down.” There’s a soft touch on his shoulder. “Tell her; she’ll understand!”

 

She's not soothing him; he just feels the influx of feelings and memories overwhelming him.

 

_ He shouldn't have said anything back in the medpod with Jemma. He should have kept it to himself, like he had for months... _

 

Jemma wouldn't have felt any obligation to save him.

 

She would be alive.

 

“ _ And you're more than that, Jemma.” _

 

Fitz is by the vault's door and has to lean against it, his forehead touching the cool metal. His breath comes out in heavy puffs.

 

“ You’re not here,” he mutters through gasps of air. “You’re not here... you’re not her- Go  _ away _ …”  He doesn’t know if he’s referring to mind-Jemma, his thoughts or… everything.

 

“ Fitz?” She calls again, her free hand shaking nervously upon his shoulder as she presses down more surely.  “What’s wrong?  Tell me,” she begs softly at first.  “I want to know.”  She does. She may try to deny it but there is something about this world that takes hold of her, something about  _ him  _ that draws her in.  It’s not just because he looks like him.  There’s something more.

 

Something familiar. 

 

The stronger grip on his shoulder startles him and he hastily shrugs the hand away.

 

“ _ No _ ,” he says sharply, shaking his head and running a hand across his face. “I can't tell her!”  _ It won’t change anything... _

 

Jemma frowns.  “Tell who?”  She pulls his shoulder back so that his head pops upward.  The action forces him to look at her more fully.  “Who are you talking to?” 

 

His eyes widen, it’s as though he’s realizing his mistake because his face reddens and his gaze drops to the floor. 

 

She holds the jar out in front of him.  “Did you date her?”  She asks again, more assertively.  The water in the jar stirs with her movement.  “Is that what this is about?”

 

His gaze falls to the small jar in her hands and his previously embarrassed and mortified mind is filled with bewilderment.

 

“What is-?” Fitz glances at her and is surprised to see the mingle of emotions dancing in her eyes. She looks desperate to get an answer from him.

 

“No,” he whispers, feeling his heart crack once again. They could have; everything might have turned out differently... But it didn’t. “No, we never- I didn't.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're nearing the end of our lovely story. We hope you've been enjoying it. Your comments/reviews have been nothing short of amazing! Next chapter will be posted on Saturday!

* * *

Fitz takes the jar from her hand, eyeing the floating piece of paper in it. He recognises the neat, loopy handwriting: he'd seen it in notebooks, files and little random notes for years.  It resembles the notes that Jemma would use to identify his sandwiches. His heart twists achingly in his chest.

 

“What is it?” He asks, looking up.

 

“ She put you on ice.”  Jemma points to the paper inside, tapping her finger against the glass.  “She put  _ you  _ on ice.”

 

He frowns, not understanding.  

 

Jemma exhales a deep, shaky breath.  “She had feelings for you,” she explains slowly, wanting to ensure that she’s clear in what she says next.  “She put you on ice because she didn’t want to deal with it.”  She bobs her shoulders; she can only guess the rest of the story.  What she decides to say next is a likely truth, gleaned from her own experiences in her own world.  “She probably didn’t think you’d return her feelings.”

 

“ You're wrong,” he says immediately, thrusting the jar back into her hands and stepping away from her. “ _ Wrong _ .” He shakes his head to fortify his words.

 

She  _ has  _ to be wrong.

 

He would have known if Jemma had-  _ No _ ... He doesn't want to even think about it. Whatever exists in his mind and heart would shatter to pieces if he lingered on those thoughts.

 

But a small, treacherous voice in his head tells him to think about the little moments, the looks and touches and actions between them throughout the years. There was always a hint of something, a lingering trace of emotion that he had always ignored.

 

_ If  _ this is the truth, they could have had days, weeks, months (maybe  _ years _ , if he is truly honest with himself) to be together before…  _ everything _ .

 

If he had known, or even guessed, he might have had the courage to tell her something while they worked in the lab together at night, when no one was around and it was just them.

Or in the thousands of moments when they were together. He would have risked a confession in broad daylight rather than breaching the subject when he was sure that he’d never see her again.

 

His throat constricts with emotion and he cannot keep Jemma's stare; not when her face shows empathy, pity and something else that he cannot identify.

 

Fitz's back hits something solid and he realises that he’s reached the medpod's door.

 

“ _ I feel the same way! There has to be another way!” _

 

Her words echo through his brain and Fitz slides to the ground, his back against the door, and he shudders, trying to keep his emotions in check.

 

_ They could have had time... _

 

“I-I did,” he says and his words seem loud in the silent vault. “I did return her feelings. She was more for me too...”

 

“Oh,” she says, her words almost a sigh as realization dawns on her.  With the jar in hand, she slides down to the floor next to him, allowing the reveal to hang in the air.  Neither dares to speak. 

 

Jemma’s fingers pick at an unseen spot upon the glass as she mulls over Fitz’s confession.  She’s certain about what his Jemma intended, her message stares back at her.  What she’s unsure of is whether she should tell him her own version of events. 

 

She turns her head a bit to the side so that he’s in her peripheral vision.  His defeat is written across his face and in his body language. Her knee bounces nervously; she knows she owes him an explanation, owes him more than she’s afforded him, but she’s afraid.  She’s afraid to let the words cross her lips.  Afraid that it’s not enough.

 

“ _You’re always so secretive,” he says with a wicked grin as he flicks a kernel of popcorn at her._

 

_ She makes a face, her eyes never leaving the television.  Her favourite part is coming up next.  “Am not.  I’m an open book.” _

 

_ He snorts.  “An open book that’s written in like bloody ancient runes that no one understands.” _

 

_ She grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap and lets her elbow finds its way deep into his side.   _

 

“ _Oy!”  He cries, half laughing, half in pain. “I call foul!”_

 

“ _Hush, it’s the best part,” she says pointing to the screen with her popcorn-filled hand.  He complies, but she knows it won’t be for long as he’s watching her.  It’s as though he’s studying her and it unnerves her.  “What?” She asks at last, feigning exasperation as she pauses the DVD._

 

_ He shakes his head and keeps his lips firm but she can see the smile in his eyes; they’re alight.  “Come on then, out with it.” _

 

“ _What do you really think about…” He pauses.  “You know.”_

 

_ She gives him a wild look. She has no idea what he’s even talking about.  “No, Fitz. I do not.” _

 

_ He waves absently toward the freezer.  “The bloody jar, Jemma.” _

 

“ _Oh.”  She knows exactly what she thinks.  She thinks it’s a stupid idea that was born out nerves and a failed assignment at Sci-Ops.  She wishes she could brew up a back-in-time potion (if such a thing were to exist) and refuse to agree to putting everything on ice._

 

“ _Jemma?”_

 

_ She bites at her bottom lip and tries to read him.  She’s terrible at reading emotion and she hates being vulnerable.  If she tells him what she really thinks of it all and he disagrees… _

 

_ She groans.  Out loud. _

 

_ His face falls.  “Oh.” _

 

_ She doesn’t correct his interpretation.  She lets the misinformation hang thickly between them, lets him believe that she thinks putting them on ice is a good idea. _

 

_ It’s not.  But she thinks he believes it is. _

 

_ It takes years for her to discover that she’d been wrong about that choice. Very wrong. _

 

“Fitz died,” she states matter-of-factly and Fitz’s head snaps toward her. She nods, confirming her statement further.  “In the medpod. Same as you… I mean, same as your Jemma.  But you probably figured that bit out already.” 

 

He nods, taking in the clouded expression on her face and then looks back at his shoes.

 

Knowing that his guesses are right doesn't make him feel any better. It just makes his heart ache and, irrationally, he feels something close to anger bubble in his stomach.

 

What have they done to deserve this? To lose each other in the same way in two different worlds?

 

“ I was sure that she would live,” he confesses. “I gave her our  _ only  _ chance to survive so that  _ she  _ could live.” He smiles mirthlessly and sighs, looking up to the ceiling. “Instead... I’m here like  _ this- _ ”  He points vaguely at himself, frustration and anger lacing his tone. “With hypoxia… stuttering to say a full sentence and with shaking hands… And she- she’s dead.”

 

Jemma nods.  There’s nothing she can add, nor anything that she can say.  She understands his pain, she feels it herself.  

 

“ They keep sending me to counselors and psychiatrists,” she decides on at last.  “They think that I’m going to break.”  She shrugs her shoulders.  “Maybe they’re right?  They wanted me to take these pills that would dull the pain and prevent the… visions, the memories.  But I refused.  I suspect that’s why Coulson didn’t want me near the medpod, why I had to jump.  He thought it’d be a trigger… that it might destroy me.”  She sniffles lightly and tucks her chin against her chest.  “I’m scared that if I take the pills… If I can’t feel it anymore, then I can’t feel  _ him  _ anymore.”

 

Fitz stares at her, taking in her defeated tone and slumped shoulders. She has been and still is in pain like him; he can clearly understand her fear.

 

“I have keep my-my nerves in check,” he says softly. “My pills should stop the tremors and keep my mind clear. I should take them at least a couple of times a day... I’m lucky if I take it once every couple of days. I usually only take one when I-I can’t use my hands and- shake too much.” He lifts his hands slightly and the fingers tremble on their own accord.

 

“ I keep seeing her -my Jemma- around me too,” he confesses, looking at his hands. He doesn’t feel brave enough to look at Jemma while speaking about his hallucinations. “She talks to me, encourages me… I can’t seem to let her go even though  _ I know  _ that I should.” 

 

“Oh,” she says, breathing out the word softly.  She reaches for his shaking hand and covers it with her own, steadying it.  Both of them are damaged from the events of the medpod and she wonders if it is possible to repair any of it. 

 

“What are we doing?” She asks more as a rhetorical question.  “They’re gone and we’re a mess.”

 

“ Yeah...” He says. “We've been left behind...”  _ And we're both figuring out how to go on… _

 

They don't talk for a while and there's a part of Fitz's mind that tells him that they have to hurry and do something soon. He has rigged the camera feed for a couple of hours at most: they're risking being found by the Team.

 

His tablet lies at his feet and he sees multiple lights flashing and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s Skye.  She has entered his device and given him a map of the positions of everyone at the Playground. A few lights blink near the corridor which leads to the vaults.  They don’t have much time to waste; either they go back to the Bus or they open the gateway again.

 

He wants to gather up his courage and ask her to stay but then something else crosses his mind and other words tumble out of his mouth instead.  “Did you date him?” 

 

She turns to look at him with wide, surprised eyes. 

 

“Were you two… together?” He clarifies nervously.

 

She lets go of his hand and pulls her knees to her chest.  She wraps her arms around her legs, pulling them in closer.  Jemma can feel her features softening at the question; while short, the weeks she’d dated Fitz had contained some of the best memories that she’d had with him. 

 

“Yeah,” she confirms.  “It wasn’t for long though.  We’d gotten a bit distracted in the lab one time,” she explains with a blush upon her cheeks.  “Forgot to put the pseudomonas into the incubator and it buggered up an entire sampling.  We thought for sure we’d get fired.  Frankly, I’m still surprised we weren’t.  But it was enough to scare us, so we decided to make a deal.”  She tips the jar slightly, stirring the water.  “We decided to put it on ice.  Stupid idea in hindsight, but there you have it.” 

 

There’s something in her tone and posture that Fitz cannot read.  “So…” He ventures. “You regret it then?”

 

“Regret putting it on ice?” She nods.  “It was a mistake and now it can’t be undone.” She sighs, placing the jar at her side on the floor.  “Because he’s gone.” 

 

Abruptly, she plants her hands on either side of her and pushes herself to feet.  She holds out her hand and Fitz takes it, allowing her to help him to his feet. 

 

“I should be getting back, I think?”  

 

Almost begrudgingly, she releases his hand and he feels the absence of her cool fingers against his warm palm. Fitz's heart can’t help but sink at her words.  She's still keeping something from him: he knows it. It's her stiff stance and the way she averts her gaze when their eyes meet before quickly looking back at him with a tight little smile.  He's known Jemma Simmons for too long to not notice these details. And this Jemma standing there might not be his but she still  _ is  _ Jemma.  He suddenly wants to divert her attention from leaving and just make her change her mind.

 

Jemma picks up the jar and walks to the boxes in the corner where she returns it.  She opens the metallic carrier that is sitting on the ground and removes a vial with an orange label which must contain the sample of the solution for the generator.

 

_ He's running out of time... _

 

“ I-I started falling for her after she almost died from the Chitauri virus,” he blurts, making Jemma turn abruptly towards him. “I never really understood or acknowledged my feelings; we'd been friends for so long and I couldn't figure out what it meant.” He runs a hand through his hair shakily. “But then she almost died  _ again _ , trying to save me and Skye from a grenade...and then there was Trip flirting with her... and then Hydra.” He sighs and dares to look up. Jemma is staring at him, clutching the container in her hands.

 

“ I...I didn't want to say anything. I-I was- scared of losing her.” He looks around the vault and is mildly surprised not to see his mind-Jemma. He wonders if finally voicing all of his thoughts aloud has caused him to stop seeing her. “But in the medpod... I knew that only one could live. I checked- I did the math. And she wasn't listening to me: she didn't  _ want  _ to listen.”

 

“And I just... told her.... Told her that she was more.” Fitz clenches his fists. “If I hadn't, she might be alive.”  He wanted to die to allow her to live and she had twisted it against him. He didn't know how to live with her dead.  “Jemma...she felt obliged to save me. I... It's my fault if she's gone.”

 

She can’t help but stare, bewildered by the rapid confessions.  She shakes her head, her response almost automatic. “No, Fitz.  It’s not.  It’s not your fault.  There’s nothing either of us could’ve done to save them; it’s more than just the math.”  Jemma sighs, her gaze falling to the ground.  “It’s always been more than just the math.”

 

Fitz is a mathematician, a physicist and engineer by trade.  He, by nature, understands logic, patterns, quantity, formulation… What he doesn’t understand quite as well is nuance.  Jemma had always been the one to explain subtlety to him even though she, herself, struggled with understanding the variations in human emotion.  Throughout their friendship, Jemma had always been the one to analyse every facet of every situation, while he’d just state the facts. 

 

They will survive. 

 

They will not survive. 

 

Black and white. Right or wrong. In love or indifferent. 

 

The events that had unfolded in the medpod were the same in both worlds; he’d declared his love and she’d wasted time evaluating.   

 

But in the end it was still more than just the math.  It was more than just logic and patterns...  

 

It was…

 

“Love.” Jemma meets Fitz’s eyes, realization dawning on her.  What she had done had been enough; she’d shown Fitz, in her own way, that she’d loved him.  “You were always more than that for her too.”  

 

It is as though a dam has broken and her confession spills quickly from her lips, much like Fitz’s had. “I loved him, just as she loved you,” she says with increased certainty.  “I would’ve died so that he would live.  Trust me Fitz, she loved you so much she died trying to save you.”

 

Fitz nods, knowing that she’s speaking the truth but it doesn’t wash away his guilt. As his gaze lingers on Jemma, who is standing still and looking at him with glassy eyes, he realises that they’re both living the outcome of their mutual choices in the medpod. 

 

And they’re both unhappy.

 

His Jemma died to save him and he’s struggling to keep himself together. Her Fitz died to save her and she’s barely coping. He wonders if he had truly died saving his Jemma, would she be like her? Pain-stricken and guilty and so reckless that she would jump through a wormhole, regardless of her safety, just to see him?

 

A little voice in his head answers  _ yes _ .

 

At the time, underwater and with little time to think of all the consequences, his only wish was that Jemma Simmons survived. He didn’t care about himself. Fitz had never bothered to realise that Jemma might have thought the same thing.

 

He runs a hand across his face, breathing slowly to calm himself. He looks at Jemma and he knows that he doesn’t want her to leave.

 

Despite the differences, he’s still Fitz and she is still Simmons.

 

They’re both in shambles and missing a good half of their respective hearts and souls but they could get better. Together. There is a chance for them to be FitzSimmons again.

 

“ She’s gone because she loved me,” he says, clenching his fists and taking a couple of steps forward. “And… he’s gone because he loved you.” He keeps his eyes fixed on her. _ Where does that leave us? _

 

She nods.  Fitz had always been her home.  He was her heart, her everything.   

 

But she has a home, it exists almost impossibly in another universe.  But what of her heart?

 

“Will you turn on the Asimovian while I ready the syringe?”  She can not moderate her voice any longer, it cracks under the weight of her indecision and over analysis and she does what is expected of her.  She is avoiding; she is still as scared of rejection as she was before.  

 

He’s surprised by her request and she practically cringes at her own question.  

 

As she watches him oblige, slowly turning the dials and readying the generator, she wants to take back her words.   She wants to swallow them whole and pretend that they’d never been said.  She wants to stay with him and hear more about his Jemma.  She wants to help him heal.   She wants to tell him all about her Fitz and most of all, she wants to make new memories with  _ him _ .  She wants to follow her heart for once. 

 

She doesn’t care that he’s not  _ her  _ Fitz. He is Fitz and it is enough. 

 

The machine crackles and its gears whirl, powering the gateway.  She can see the clouded static at the broken window of the medpod clearing and Mack begins to appear, staring back at her from the other side.  He is expectant and she suspects that he’s been asked to wait for her.  

 

She stares at him, her mouth gaping, trying to find the words to explain her choices.  He doesn’t explicitly ask, he doesn’t have to.  When he sees Fitz at her side, he implicitly understands. His eyebrow twitches, silently questioning, asking her to confirm what her next move will be.

 

Abruptly she turns, her heart pounding into her throat.  “Fitz?”

 

He tears his eyes off the gateway and turns to her, feeling as though his chest has been hollowed out. Is this how it will end? Is he just going to watch her leave and lose her again?

 

“Yes?” He whispers.

 

She allows instinct to take over and pushes up on the balls of her feet and presses her lips against the corner of his mouth.  She owes him a proper goodbye; he deserves one. 

 

“Everything you ever did,” she whispers, her breath hot against his skin.  “It was always enough.  Don’t ever think any differently.  You’re more than that.”   

 

He blinks at the soft contact, the pressure hauntingly familiar and it brings a surge of emotions and memories to his heart and mind.  Her words echo in his ears and he can't help but wonder if they are true.  He’d always felt that he hadn’t done enough for his Jemma... but he  _ can  _ do something for this Jemma.

 

They can learn to heal together and move on with their lives. They can learn to be FitzSimmons again and change (and help) the world as they had wanted to when they were younger.  But most of all... They could try to fall in love again, openly knowing that the feelings are reciprocated.

 

She's stepping back, lips pulled in a watery smile and he knows that he cannot let her go.

 

It's his last chance.

 

He steps forward, reaching for her arm to keep her still while his other hand cups her cheek. He doesn't stop to think of the consequences and leans down to kiss her, muffling her soft gasp of surprise with his lips.  He feels something flare in his chest, warmth suddenly flowing to his veins as she responds to the kiss, lithe body meshing against his own. Her arms wrap at his neck and she instinctively presses her body against his, craving his warmth and strength. She too feels on fire as his hand weaves through her hair to the base of her neck.  

 

Both are oblivious to the universe at her back, uncaring of what anyone else might think.  They’re in sync ( _ as always _ ) and he pours his feelings into the kiss, working his mouth over Jemma's until they're both breathless.  

 

When they part he wants to tell her how he feels, about how they could try to overcome their mutual pain and  _ be  _ together but the words slip from his brain once again.  He stares at the amber eyes that he's learned to love more than anything else and something unravels inside him.

 

“Don't leave me,” he whispers, leaning forward so that their foreheads touch. “Jemma... Stay here...”

 

Her reply is at the tip of her tongue, she already knows her decision and can feel it in every fibre of her being.  

 

But she has friends, a life… a place on the other side.  

 

Jemma Simmons, without fail, always over analyses. 

 

She pulls away reluctantly from Fitz and turns toward the gateway, hoping for advice--  _ permission _ , even-- from her world.   Mack’s imposing figure fills much of the gateway, shadowing the space around him.  A grin widens across his face and she can tell that he already knows what her decision will be. 

 

He knew it before she was even certain herself.

 

He motions for someone to step into the light and makes room for her, allowing her to see through the wormhole and into the parallel universe.  

 

_ It’s Skye. _

 

The hacker looks through the gateway and all the words Skye had practised, the apology she rehearsed, vanish from her head.  Jemma is standing next to Fitz and Skye knows that she won’t return. It takes only a quick glance to realise that the biochemist is head over heels in love with the engineer. She has seen that look too many times before…

 

Even before Jemma’s confession that she and Fitz had dated, Skye knew that there was something more than just partnership and close friendship between the two scientists. Honestly,  _ everyone  _ knew… but them.

 

It is still FitzSimmons being FitzSimmons and even though it hurts because she’s losing one of her best friends, she knows that she cannot do as Coulson has asked: she will not coax Simmons to return.

 

“I--” Jemma’s at a loss.  How can she even begin to explain?

 

She doesn’t need to.

 

The tears upon Skye’s cheeks mirror Jemma’s and it is clear she is speechless from emotion as she looks to Mack for words.  He pulls Skye against his side and rubs his hand against her shoulder, comforting her.  

 

“We’ll miss you, Tiny,” Mack says on behalf of both of them.  “Make sure you visit sometime, okay?”

 

Jemma nods through her tears.  “I will,” she promises.  “Thank you, both of you. For everything.” 

 

Fitz watches in silence as  Skye on the other side catches his eye after she mops her face with her sleeve, drying off her tears. She points at Jemma and then at him and shoots him a look that’s warm, teasing and meaningful. She’s plainly saying:  _ Take care of each other _ .

 

She’s exactly like the Skye that he knows and Fitz can’t help but smile slightly and nod.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the end! We're so glad that you've enjoyed reading our story as much as we enjoyed writing it. If this was your first dip into our writing, please check out our other (individually authored) stories. Again, thank you so much for all the wonderful comments!

* * *

It's quite a nice sight: the sky is turning an inky blue, the stars are starting to shine brighter and the sea is calm with waves sloshing quietly against the shore. Despite being November, it's not even cold; there’s just a slight breeze that would be unpleasant if Fitz hadn’t been wearing his jumper.

 

He shifts upon the old towel beneath him, trying to make himself more comfortable. He’s been sitting and watching his teammates for a while; after he’d helped carry the bags of groceries and firewood, they’d all started working, getting things ready, and he had settled in his spot.   

 

The evening’s tranquility is broken when Mack lets out a carefree whoop as the driftwood pile before them catches fire.  “I told you it was dry enough,” he calls out to Fitz with laughter in his voice.  Grinning, Fitz can only shake his head in response.   

 

There’s some commotion at his right and he turns, his smile growing when he sees Skye, Trip and Hunter arguing over the best way to plant their cheap fireworks into the sand.

 

“ I’m telling you,” Skye declares, pulling at the shopping bag that Hunter clutches between his hands.  “We need to start with the Roman candles and  _ then  _ do the swirling pinwheel--”

 

“Oh, because you’re such a fireworks expert?”  Hunter yanks the bag back toward him causing it to rip, its contents spilling upon the sand. “Now look what you bloody well did…”

 

“Me?!  You’re the one--”

 

“Guys!” Trip interjects.  “Can we just split them? Maybe if we just--”

 

The two agents look up from the sand, exasperation clear upon both their faces.  “No!” They cry out in unison. 

 

Fitz can’t help but laugh as he watches his teammates.  It feels good to just relax and enjoy each other’s company and he realises just how much he could have lost if he had kept isolating himself.  Thankfully, he’s learning to trust his old and new teammates and is finally becoming an active member of the team once again.

 

A plastic pill bottle drops into his lap as a hand weaves gently through his hair, mussing it slightly. “You forgot this.”  

 

He looks up and smiles at Jemma, unconsciously leaning into her touch as she takes a seat next to him. He pops the bottle open, sliding a pill into his palm and reaches for a bottle of water. 

“Where did you go?” He asks, turning his head toward her.

 

She smiles mischieviously, bumping her shoulder against his own.  “I have a surprise for you.”  

 

He grins and turns to her. “Yeah? What is it?”

 

Jemma hooks her arm into Fitz’s and curls tighter into his side, nuzzling her head against his shoulder.  “What is an absolute  _ must  _ for any Bonfire Night?”  

 

He smiles as she cuddles against him, enveloping him with the familiar scent of lavender. Fitz tips his head against hers, her words giving him pause.

 

“ Wha-?” He looks at her with wide eyes.  _ How did she even-? _ “ You didn’t-?”

 

She nods, her grin wide.  “I did. I’ve been conspiring with your mum for a few weeks now and…” She digs into the pocket of her coat and produces a small paper bag and holds it out to him.  “She sent this.”  

 

“ My mum?” He looks at her with a bemused smile. “Really though... You talk with her more than  _ I  _ do.”

 

Fitz peers into the bag and slowly opens it with his fingertips. He's immediately hit by the familiar scent of treacle toffee and molasses. His mouth starts watering in the same way it did when he was a child and had celebrated Guy Fawkes Day with his mum.

 

“Claggum...” he says softly and looks at Jemma with a wide grin.

 

Jemma reaches across him and steals a broken piece of the dark brown candy and pops it into her mouth.  “Skye reminded me, to be honest,” she says, allowing the toffee to melt upon her tongue.  “We’ve been so busy lately that I’d nearly forgotten November had even arrived.”

 

“Skye?” Fitz’s eyebrows lift in surprise and he looks at the hacker who is currently arguing with Trip and Hunter over the fireworks’ set up.  “I didn’t think she even knew who Guy Fawkes was, let alone that there was a holiday celebrating it…” He shoots Jemma an amused smile. “I’m impressed.”  He picks a piece of claggum and eats it slowly, savouring the thick sweetness. It reminds him of Scotland.

 

“ No,” she says laughingly, shaking her head.  “I meant the  _ other  _ Skye. My Skye.  She said that Mack figured out a way to stabilize the gateway by repairing their Asimovian so that it sustains the gravitational waves.  She mentioned that they’ve been finalizing the specs for us, we’re meant to collect them at the end of the week.  It’ll be nice to be able to visit them a little more frequently.”  She intertwines her fingers with his, feeling his warmth against her palm, and she squeezes his hand.  “Skye mentioned that Coulson wanted to have a chat with you.”

 

“Oh…” Fitz turns to her, swallowing a mouthful of toffee.

Once they’d made more vials of Ruang solution and studied the wormholes together, they had dared to travel to her world. It had been odd to see a dimension where everything was alike and yet different from the way he knew it. Skye had been a familiar sight: she had hugged him tight and nearly cried when she saw him. It was the same way his Skye had greeted Jemma when she’d first seen her.

 

Jemma’s May and Coulson had been a little colder than the ones he knew but he could understand their attitude; they were wary of every safety issue and were concerned for their team. The fact that the other dimension’s Director wants to talk to him  _ is  _ a bit unnerving though…

 

“Should I be worried?” He asks, running his thumb over her knuckles before squeezing her hand back. “Is he going to say something about the fact that I kidnapped his team’s biochemist?” 

 

She laughs and taps her hand against his leg.  “No, of course not.  He just wants to…” Her teeth bite at her bottom lip.  “He wants to know your  _ intentions _ ,” she finishes quickly. 

 

Fitz chokes on the sip of water he had unfortunately decided to take while Jemma was talking. He coughs loudly for a few seconds, liquid dripping from his chin, and turns to her in disbelief.

 

“ I- He...  _ What? _ ”  He splutters incoherently, mopping his jaw with his sleeve while his brain works through the words.

 

_ Intentions _ . Coulson wants to know what his intentions are...  _ with Jemma _ ?

 

Fitz feels a rush of warmth on his face.  “Why do I feel as though I'm going to have my head bitten off by a very protective dad over his beloved daughter?”

 

She laughs. “I’m sure he won’t bite your head off Fitz!  I think he was just teasing; he just wants to get know you and everyone a little better.”  She motions toward the rest of the team.  “He wants to be sure he can trust them.  Trust this.”

 

He looks at her and nods, eyes softening as the smile lingers on her face. Sometimes, he’s still incredulous that he can get to see that smile again. Everyday.

 

He can understand Coulson's concern: Jemma is alone in another world and with a group of people who resemble (and technically  _ are _ ) the teammates she has left behind but who are different at the same time. The Coulson of his world has learned to trust and care for Jemma as he did in the past, and Fitz knows that his counterpart will do the same and will learn to trust him and his team.

 

“ Well, I suppose I'll have a long and thorough chat with him when we go there then,” he muses, shifting closer to her. “And if we find a way to stabilize the wormhole further, we can try to travel with more than just two people.” He gently nudges her shoulder with his own. “Although... the thought of having two Coulsons and two Mays, in particular, is scary.” He tries to imagine the two teams meeting and a sudden thought makes him chuckle. “Oh no, wait. The worst would be two Skyes. Can you  _ imagine  _ that? We'd never hear the end of it. We'd be nagged forever about our relationsh-” He falters and Jemma leans forward, pressing her mouth to his and cutting him off.

 

Fitz freezes for a second; the kiss is unexpected but very,  _ very  _ appreciated and he moves to embrace her, his hands resting on her waist and cheek as he gently responds.

 

He’s warm and soft and she can’t help but feel safe in his arms. Sometimes, she’ll admit, it’s a little strange kissing him; it feels different, yet familiar at the same time.  But both are making new memories and new friends, and their relationship is…

 

“Perfect,” she says against his lips.   

 

He smiles as her breath ghosts his mouth and leans forward, nose brushing against hers as their foreheads touch. His heart swells in his chest as he basks in her presence and proximity.

Fitz knows that he’s been miraculously granted a second chance with her and there are a thousand things that he wants to tell her but he’s still restrained by his hypoxia.

 

He’s fighting it, struggling and winning against his slippery brain because he wants to get better. For himself. And for her.

 

He moves back slightly so that he can look at her, blue meeting hazel, and smiles softly as the first of the fireworks begin to pop, exploding colour across the night’s sky.

 

“Of course everything is perfect,” he whispers, tucking a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear. “You’re here, Jemma.”

 

“ I am,” she says, nodding slightly.  “But it’s perfect because I’m here  _ with  _ you.”

 

He smiles again and keeps her close as they watch the fireworks, shining in the darkness.

 

“ Hey guys, come over here!” They look at Skye, heads moving as one and see her waving for them to come closer. “ _ C’mon, FitzSimmons _ !”

 

It's the name that makes them stand and grin at each other.

 

Despite everything, it's still them.

 

It will always be them.

  
  


** THE END **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't had a chance to comment yet, we'd love to hear from you as well. It's always lovely to know that people have read and enjoyed the story!

**Author's Note:**

> Please, leave a comment... :)


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